- 6) P.
 
 BROTHERS OF PERIL 
 
 A Story of Old Newfoundland
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 THEODORE 
 
 The Tied Feathers . . $1.50 
 Brothers of 'Peril . . 130 
 Hemming the Jldoenturer 1 .50 
 
 L. C PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 New England Building, Boston, Mass.
 
 M A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT 
 NAMELESS WILDERNESS "
 
 Brothers of Peril 
 
 A Story of Old Newfoundland 
 
 By 
 
 Theodore Roberts ^ 
 
 Author of "Hemming, the Adventurer" wt^ 
 
 
 
 Illustrated by H. C. Edwards 
 
 fci;5^SS*^3^:Z^S5*E^ 
 gft%^^2^S?&y^^ 
 
 Boston * L. C. Page df ^S 
 Company | M d c c c c v
 
 Copyright, 
 BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published June, 1905 
 Second Impression, March, 1908 
 
 COLONIAL PRESS 
 
 Eltctrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds fy Co. 
 Boston, Mass., U. S. A
 
 Preface 
 
 DURING the three centuries directly following 
 John Cabot's discovery of Newfoundland, that un- 
 fortunate island was the sport of careless kings, self- 
 ish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While Eng- 
 land, France, Spain, and Portugal were busy with 
 courts and kings, and with spectacular battles, their 
 fishermen and adventurers toiled together and 
 fought together about the misty headlands of that 
 far island. Fish, not glory, was their quest! Full 
 cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire and let 
 fame go hang! 
 
 The merchants of England undertook the guar- 
 dianship of the " Newfounde Land." In greed, in 
 valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. 
 Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 
 'round. It hounded the aborigines; it bullied the 
 men of France and Spain; it discouraged the 
 settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever 
 nationality. It was the dream of those merchant 
 adventurers of Devon to have the place remain 
 
 2137932
 
 vi Preface 
 
 for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced 
 the pirates, the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, 
 and the natural hardships with equal fortitude and 
 insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of 
 founding plantations in the king's name and to the 
 glory of God, England, and himself, then would the 
 greedy merchants slay or cripple the philosopher's 
 dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they 
 were powerful enough at court, though so little 
 remarked in the histories of the times! But, ever 
 and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble 
 fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigi- 
 lance and strike a blow at the inscrutable wilderness. 
 The fishing admirals loom large in the history 
 of the island. They were the hands and eyes of 
 the wealthy merchants. The master of the first 
 vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the 
 season was, for a greater or lesser period of time, 
 admiral and judge of that harbour. It was his duty 
 to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry 
 fish, to each ship in the harbour; to see that no 
 sailors from the fleet escaped into the woods; to 
 discourage any visions of settlement which sight of 
 the rugged forests might raise in the romantic 
 heads of the gentlemen of the fleet; to see that all 
 foreigners were hustled on every occasion, and to 
 take the best of everything for himself. Needless
 
 Preface 
 
 vn 
 
 to say, it was a popular position with the hard- 
 fisted skippers. 
 
 In the narratives of the early explorers frequent 
 mention is made of the peaceful nature of the abo- 
 rigines. At first they displayed unmistakable signs 
 of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to 
 trade with the loud-mouthed strangers from over 
 the eastern horizon. They helped at the fishing, 
 and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They 
 bartered priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass 
 trinkets. Later, however, we read of treachery and 
 murder on the parts of both the visitors and the 
 natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the 
 more daring shipmasters and adventurers to capture, 
 and carry back to England, Beothic braves and 
 maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were 
 kindly treated and made companions of by English 
 noblemen and gentlefolk. It is recorded that more 
 than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip 
 in fashionable places of London Town before Death 
 cut the silken bonds of his motley captivity. 
 
 Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who 
 obtained a Royal Charter in 1610, to settle and 
 develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as 
 a kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physi- 
 cal characteristics he says : " They are of middle 
 size, broad-chested, and very erect. . . . Their
 
 viii Preface 
 
 hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some 
 yellow." 
 
 As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are 
 several suppositions. An aged Micmac squaw, who 
 lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that her 
 father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. 
 At that time something over a hundred years 
 ago the race numbered between one and two hun- 
 dred souls. They made periodical excursions to the 
 salt water to fish, and to trade with a few friendly 
 whites and Nova Scotian Micmacs. But, for the 
 most part, they avoided the settlements. They had 
 reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers 
 considered a lurking Beothic as fair a target for 
 his buckshot as a bear or caribou. One November 
 day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the 
 remnant of the broken race on their return trip to 
 the great wilderness of the interior. The trail was 
 lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first day 
 of the journey. And there, with the obliterated 
 trail, ends the world's knowledge of the original 
 inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of one woman 
 of the race named Mary March, who died, a self- 
 ordained fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, 
 some ninety years ago. 
 
 To-day there are a few bones in the museum at 
 St. John's. One hears stories of grassy circles be-
 
 Preface ix 
 
 side the lakes and rivers, where wigwams once stood. 
 Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light 
 with the turning of the farmer's furrow. But the 
 language of the lost tribe is forgotten, and the his- 
 tory of it is unrecorded. 
 
 In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness 
 of that far time in the likeness of the wilderness 
 as I knew it, and loved it, a few short years ago. 
 The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to 
 brown barren, shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; 
 but the centuries pass and leave no mark. I have 
 dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes 
 of fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit 
 of history rather than the letter! But the heart of 
 the wilderness, and the hearts of men and women, 
 I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as 
 I know them to-day. T. R. 
 
 November, 1904.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. A BOY WINS His MAN -NAME . . i 
 
 II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT 
 
 WATER 9 
 
 III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 16 
 
 IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 24 
 V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR . . 34 
 
 VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER . . 43 
 
 VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE .... 56 
 
 VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA .... 65 
 
 IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION . . 73 
 
 X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX ... 83 
 
 XI. THE SETTING -IN OF WINTER ... 94 
 
 XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION .... 104 
 
 XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE . . .116 
 
 XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING . . . 126 
 
 XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE . . . . 133 
 
 XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF 140 
 
 XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH . . .148 
 
 XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS . . .156 
 
 XIX. Two OF A KIND 164 
 
 XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER . .174 
 
 XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN . .183 
 
 XXII. BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS . . 190 
 
 XXIII. BETROTHED 200
 
 Xll 
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XXIV. A FIRE -LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN 207 
 XXV. FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS 
 
 IN THE LITTLE FORT . . . .217 
 XXVI. PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER 
 
 THRUST 227 
 
 XXVII. A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS . 233 
 
 XXVIII. THE RUNNING OF THE ICE . . . 241 
 XXIX. WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES ; AND 
 
 TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR . . 252 
 XXX. MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HER- 
 SELF 264 
 
 XXXI. WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED . . 273 
 XXXII. THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD 
 
 VOYAGE Is BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED . 279 
 
 XXXIII. IN THE MERRY CITY . . . .287 
 
 XXXIV. PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS His OLD COM- 
 
 RADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA . . 294 
 XXXV. THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER 
 
 MATTERS THAN LOVE .... 306 
 
 XXXVI. OVER THE SIDE 317 
 
 XXXVII. THE MOTHER 323
 
 BROTHERS OF PERIL 
 
 A Story of Old Newfoundland 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A BOY WINS HIS MAN - NAME 
 
 THE boy struck again with his flint knife, and 
 again the great wolf tore at his shoulder. The 
 eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. 
 Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. 
 The dark spruces stood above them, with the first 
 shadows of night in their branches; and the west- 
 ern sky was stained red where the sun had been. 
 Twice the wolf dropped his antagonist's shoulder, 
 in a vain attempt to grip the throat. The boy, 
 pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a 
 dog, and repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into 
 the wolf's shaggy side. 
 
 At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf
 
 Brothers of Peril 
 
 lay stretched dead in awful passiveness. His fangs 
 gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws and 
 black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet 
 wilderness from the recesses of the half-shut eye- 
 lids. 
 
 For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the 
 fingers of his left hand buried in the wolf's mane, 
 and his right hand a blot of red against the beast's 
 side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went 
 down to the river and washed his mangled arm and 
 shoulder in the cool water. The shock of it cleared 
 his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the 
 current to his middle, stooped to the racing sur- 
 face, and drank unstintingly. Strength flooded back 
 to blood and muscle, and the slender limbs regained 
 their lightness. 
 
 By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the 
 paler background of the eastern sky. A long finger- 
 streak of red, low down on the hilltops, still light- 
 ened the west. A purple band hung above it like 
 a belt of magic wampum the war-belt of some 
 mighty god. Above that, Night, the silent hunter, 
 set up the walls of his lodge of darkness. 
 
 The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of 
 the sky. He might read it, knowingly enough, for 
 the morrow's rain or frost ; but beyond that he gave 
 it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set
 
 A Boy Wins His Man-Name 3 
 
 about the skinning o'f it with his rude blade. He 
 worked with skill and speed. Soon head and pelt 
 were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his 
 arrows and bow, he flung the prize across his shoul- 
 der and started along a faint trail through the 
 spruces. 
 
 The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead 
 away from' the river by hummock and hollow; 
 and yet it cunningly held to the course of the stream. 
 Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed 
 over in the tree-tops. The voices of the rapids 
 smote across the air with a deeper note. As the 
 boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, 
 and sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms 
 silent as shadows faded away from his path, and 
 questioning heads were turned back over sinewy 
 shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf 
 and they smelt the man. They knew that there 
 had been another violent death in the valley of the 
 River of Three Fires. 
 
 After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, fol- 
 lowing a path which less primitive eyes could not 
 have found, the boy came out on a small meadow 
 bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wig- 
 wams, made of birch poles, bark, and caribou hides, 
 stood about the meadow. In front of each wig- 
 wam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of
 
 Brothers of Peril 
 
 much wood. The meadow was almost an island, 
 having the river on two sides and a shallow lagoon 
 cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of 
 alder-grown " bottom " by which one might cross 
 dry-shod. The whole meadow, including the alders 
 and a clump of spruces, was not more than five 
 acres in extent. 
 
 The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and 
 threw the wolfskin down before the fire. There 
 he stood, straight and motionless, with an air of 
 vast achievement about him. Two women, who 
 were broiling meat at the fire, looked from the 
 shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart stripling. 
 They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and 
 admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes 
 appeared frightful enough in the red firelight, even 
 in death. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " they cried, " what warrior has done 
 this deed?" 
 
 " Now give me my man-name," demanded the 
 boy. 
 
 The older of the two women, his mother, tried 
 to tend his wounded arm ; but he shook her roughly 
 away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. 
 Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of 
 great names. A stalwart man, the chief of the 
 village, strode from the dark interior of the near-
 
 A Boy Wins His Man-Name 5 
 
 est wigwam, and glanced from his son to the un- 
 tidy mass of hair and skin. His eyes gleamed at 
 sight of his boy's torn arm and the white teeth 
 of the wolf. 
 
 " Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the 
 women. "Wolf Slayer," he repeated; "let this 
 be his man-name Wolf Slayer." 
 
 So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, 
 at the age of fourteen years, a warrior among his 
 father's people. 
 
 The inhabitants of that great island were all of 
 one race. In history they are known as Beothics. 
 At the time of this tale they were divided into two 
 nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from 
 one another, breaking the old bond of blood. Each 
 tribe was divided into numerous villages. The 
 island was shared pretty evenly between the na- 
 tions. Soft Hand was king of the Northerners. 
 It was of one of his camps that the father of Wolf 
 Slayer was chief. 
 
 Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond 
 his generation. For more than fifty years he had 
 held the richest hunting-grounds in the island 
 against the enemy. His strength had been of both 
 head and hand. Now he was stiff with great age. 
 Now his hair was gray and scanty, and unadorned 
 by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The
 
 Brothers of Peril 
 
 snows of eighty winters had drifted against the 
 walls of his perishable but ever defiant lodges, and 
 the suns of eighty summers had faded the pig- 
 ments of his totem of the great Black Bear. 
 Though he was slow of anger, and fair in judg- 
 ment, his people feared him as they feared no other. 
 Though he was gentle with the weak and young, 
 and had honoured his parents in their old age and 
 loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest war- 
 rior dared not sneer. 
 
 The village of this mighty chief was situated 
 at the head of Wind Lake. On the night of Wolf 
 Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson 
 arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three 
 Fires. They travelled in bark canoes and were 
 accompanied by a dozen braves. The grandson 
 of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's 
 age. He was slight of figure and dark of skin. 
 His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer of 
 strange things, and a maker of songs. He and 
 Wolf Slayer sat together by the fire. Wolf Slayer 
 held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's eyes, 
 and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time 
 Ouenwa listened attentively, smiling and polite, as 
 was his usual way with strangers. But at last he 
 grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to 
 listen, in peace, to the song of the river. How
 
 A Boy Wins His Man-Name 7 
 
 could he understand what the rapids were saying 
 with all this babbling of " knife " and " wolf " in 
 his ears? 
 
 " All this wind," he said, " would kill a pack 
 of wolves, or even the black cave-devil himself." 
 
 " There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf 
 Slayer, glancing up at the trees. 
 
 " There is a mighty wind blowing about this 
 fire," said Ouenwa, " and it whistles altogether of 
 a great warrior who slew a wolf." 
 
 " At least that is not work for a dreamer," re- 
 torted the other, sullenly. Ouenwa's answer was 
 a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows 
 of the fire. 
 
 At an early hour of the next morning the great 
 chief's party started up-stream in their canoes, on 
 the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours Soft 
 Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's 
 hundred questions. He had grown somewhat 
 moody in the last year. He gazed away to the 
 forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded 
 not the high piping of his dead son's child. His 
 mind was busy with thoughts of the events of the 
 past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's 
 voice with a shake of the head. He recalled the 
 sullen smouldering of that stalwart chief's eyes,
 
 8 Brothers of Peril 
 
 He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging 
 craft beside him. 
 
 " I grow old," he murmured. " The voice of 
 my power is breaking to its last echo. My com- 
 mand over my people slips like a frozen thong of 
 raw leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the 
 dull brain of him ? " 
 
 The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and 
 warm. The mists drew skyward and melted in the 
 gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, across the 
 brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down- 
 bent wings, skimmed the pebbly shore. A king- 
 fisher flashed his burnished feathers and screamed 
 his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead 
 of the voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of 
 the great chief's approach. 
 
 " Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the 
 boy who killed the wolf," said Ouenwa. 
 
 The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin 
 face was sombre with more than the shadow of 
 years. 
 
 " Nay," he replied. " His is no empty cry. Be- 
 ware of him, my son ! "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THJE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER 
 
 MONTAW, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the 
 head of a small bay. His home was half-wigwam, 
 half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered 
 with the hides of caribou and partly with a square 
 of sail-cloth, which had been given him by a Basque 
 fisherman in exchange for six beaver skins. The 
 walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. 
 Here and there were signs of intercourse with the 
 strangers out of the Eastern sea, an iron fish- 
 hook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished 
 copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was 
 justly proud, for had he not acquired them at risk 
 of sudden extinction by the breath of the clapping 
 fire-stick ? 
 
 The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth 
 he had been a hunter of renown and a great travel- 
 ler, and had sojourned long in the lodges of the 
 Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that 
 people, and she had given him laughter in re- 
 
 9
 
 io Brothers of Peril 
 
 turn for his devotion. Journeying back to his own 
 hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. 
 At once all his skill and bravery had been turned 
 to less open ways than those of the lover and 
 warrior. In little more than a year's time he had 
 driven the tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even 
 now as he sat before the door of his lodge, he 
 was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the 
 fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows 
 he made of jasper, and some of flint, and some of 
 purple slate. Those of slate would break off in 
 the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's 
 pets. 
 
 One day a young man from the valley of the 
 River of Three Fires brought Montaw a string of 
 fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For 
 awhile they talked together in the sunlight at the 
 door of the lodge. 
 
 " For the chase," said the old man, " I make 
 the long shape of flint, three fingers wide, and to 
 this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an arrow 
 will hold in the side of the running deer, and may 
 be plucked out after death." 
 
 " I have even seen it, father," replied the young 
 man, in supercilious tones; for he considered him- 
 self a mighty hunter. 
 
 " For the battle," continued the arrow-maker,
 
 The Old Craftsman 1 1 
 
 " I chip the flint and shape the narrow splinters 'of 
 slate. All three are good in their way if the bow 
 be strong and the arm." 
 
 The old craftsman made a song. It was rough 
 as his arrow-heads. 
 
 " Arrows of gray and arrows of black 
 
 Soon shall be red. 
 
 What will the white moon say to the proud 
 Warriors, dead ? 
 
 " Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, 
 
 Arrows of slate. 
 
 So, with the skill of my hands, I shape 
 Arrows of hate. 
 
 " Fly, my little ones, straight and true, 
 
 Silent as sleep. 
 
 Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow, 
 What shall I reap ? 
 
 " Sorrow will come to their council-fires. 
 
 Weeping and fear 
 
 Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge, 
 Year after year. 
 
 11 When the moon rides on the purple hills, 
 
 Joyous of face, 
 
 Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, 
 Heads for the chase. 
 
 " When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows 
 
 Like a red star, 
 
 Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, 
 Heads for the war.
 
 12 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, 
 
 Arrows of slate. 
 
 Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse 
 Battle and hate ! " 
 
 One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking 
 seaward, his trained ears caught the sound of a 
 faint call from the wooded hills behind. He did 
 not turn his head or change his position. But he 
 held his breath, the better to listen. Again came 
 the cry, very weak and far away. 
 
 " It is the voice of a wioman," he said, and smiled 
 grimly. 
 
 Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the 
 east faded into the desolate gray of the sea. Black, 
 like stalking shadows, stood the little islands of the 
 headlands. The last of the light died out like the 
 heart of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again 
 came the cry, whispering across the stillness. 
 
 " It may be the voice of a child, lost in the 
 woods," said the arrow-maker. He rose from his 
 seat and entered the lodge. He blew the coals of 
 his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the 
 burnt ends of faggots. Then he took in his hand 
 another of his Eastern prizes a broad-bladed 
 knife and started across the tumbled rocks 
 toward the edge of the wood. Though old, he was 
 still strong and tough of limb and courageous of
 
 The Old Craftsman 13 
 
 heart. Sure and swift he made his way through 
 the heavy growth of spruce. Once he paused for 
 the space of a heart-beat, to make sure of his direc- 
 tion. Again and again was the piteous cry 
 repeated. 
 
 The old man kept up his tireless trot through 
 underbrush and swamp, and displayed neither 
 fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a 
 narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into 
 the shadow of a clump of firs. He lay close, and 
 breathed heavily. By this time the moon had cleared 
 the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilder- 
 ness. In the air was a whisper of gathering frost. 
 The water of the little river twisted black and 
 silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore 
 it, with a voice of agony. 
 
 The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old 
 craftsman questioned the farther shore with a 
 gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be some- 
 thing wrong with the shadows. A bent figure 
 slipped down to the edge of the stream where the 
 water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and 
 knees and crawled to the black and unstable lip 
 of the tide. Again the cry rang abroad, thin and 
 high above the complaining tumult of the current. 
 The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the
 
 14 Brothers of Peril 
 
 stream. At the edge of the spinning eddy he found 
 a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung 
 to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare 
 and rounded arm. The arrow-maker lifted her 
 against his shoulder and bathed her face in the cool 
 water until her eyelids lifted. 
 
 " Chief," she whispered, " pluck out the arrow." 
 
 He shook his head. His trade was with battle 
 and death, but it was half a lifetime since he had 
 felt the gushing of human blood on his hands. 
 
 " Father," she cried, faintly, " I pray you, 
 pluck it out. The pain of it eats into my spirit. 
 It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and noise- 
 less and I heard not so much as the twang of the 
 string." 
 
 The old man held her with his left arm. With 
 strong and gentle fingers he worked the arrow in 
 the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. 
 Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot 
 touch of it across his fingers. He had dwelt so 
 long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed 
 blade came away from the wound, and he clutched 
 it in his reeking palm. The woman sobbed with 
 mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped 
 into the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes. 
 
 " It is none of my making," he said.
 
 The Old Craftsman 15 
 
 He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Re- 
 turning to her he bound her shoulder with his belt 
 of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, he 
 again forded the flashing current of the complain- 
 ing river.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 
 
 EVEN while the arrow-maker carried the 
 wounded woman, arrows of the same shape as 
 that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threat- 
 ening the little village on the River of Three Fires. 
 For days several war-parties from the South had 
 been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser 
 villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft 
 Hand, and possessing his hunting-grounds. It was 
 a laggard of one of the smaller bands that had 
 wounded the woman. She had been far from her 
 lodge at the time, seeking some healing herbs in 
 the forest, and he had fired on her out of fear that 
 she had discovered him and would warn her people. 
 In her pain and fright, she had wandered coast- 
 ward for several miles. 
 
 Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew 
 down toward the little meadow. Clouds were over 
 the face of the white October moon. A cold mist 
 
 floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders, 
 
 16
 
 The Fight in the Meadow 17 
 
 lying low among the alders at the edge of the 
 clearing, could see the unguarded people moving 
 about their red fires. There was a scent of cook- 
 ing deer-meat in the chill air. The chief of the 
 attacking party lay on the damp grass and peered 
 between the stems of the alders. He smiled ex- 
 ultantly. A quick slaughter, and then to a feast 
 already prepared. He and his braves had enjoyed 
 but poor fare during their long march. 
 
 So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the 
 cooking fires, and turn to Wolf Slayer. Late of 
 that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in 
 quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed 
 deserted, and in less than an hour after his valor- 
 ous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep on a 
 warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river 
 flashed in front, and on three sides brooded the 
 crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun had set, 
 and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, 
 was red as fire or blood. Down-stream, about 
 two hundred yards distant, a sombre bluff thrust 
 its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at 
 this, and his eyes widened with dismay. Then they 
 narrowed with hate. Out of the shelter of the rocks 
 and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came 
 figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip- 
 deep, shoulder-deep, into that molten glory. Then
 
 1 8 Brothers of Peril 
 
 they swam; and the ripples washed back from 
 gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. 
 One by one they stole from the shadow, swam the 
 radiance, and again sought the shadow. 
 
 The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage 
 had their fingers on him. Spellbound, he watched 
 close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of 
 the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the 
 shelter of the trees. He was old enough to know 
 what this meant, and his heart hurt him with its 
 pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. 
 He was dismayed at the sound of his own breath- 
 ing. He heard the distant rapping of a wood- 
 pecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and 
 the soft breath of a dying wind; and the familiar 
 sounds filled him with awe. And yet, but for these 
 sounds, the whole world might be dead and the 
 forest empty. Thought of the hundred fighting 
 men moving steadily upon the unguarded homes 
 of his people, with no more warning than the sound 
 of a swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. 
 But presently the courage that had helped him slay 
 the wolf came to him, and he thought of the glory 
 to be won by saving the threatened village. He 
 did not strengthen his heart to the task for sake 
 of his mother's life and the lives of his playmates; 
 but because the warriors would call him a hero.
 
 The Fight in the Meadow 19 
 
 Keeping just within the edge of the woods, he 
 moved up-stream as speedily as he might without 
 making any sound. He came upon a brown hare 
 crouched beside a clump of ferns. He might have 
 touched it with his hand, so unaware was it of his 
 presence. He passed beneath an alder branch 
 whereon perched a big slate-gray jay. It was not 
 a foot from his back as he crawled under, and it 
 did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to 
 make sure that he was not a fox. Sometimes he 
 lay still for a little, listening. He heard nothing, 
 though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. 
 Twilight deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. 
 The moon sailed up over the hills, and long ban- 
 ners of cloud passed across the face of it. 
 
 Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the 
 fires of the village. The red light flashed on the 
 angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in darkness. 
 He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely 
 breaking the calm, black surface. Then he swam, 
 without noise of splashing, and landed at the foot 
 of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled 
 into the red circle of one of the fires, and told his 
 news to the braves gathered around. Men slipped 
 from fire to fire. Without any unwonted disturb- 
 ance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, 
 with a fierce shout and a flight of arrow|s, the alders
 
 2O Brothers of Peril 
 
 were attacked. The invaders were checked at the 
 very moment of their fancied victory. 
 
 The righting scattered. Here three men strug- 
 gled together in the shallows at the head of the 
 lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and sank 
 into the black depths. In the open a half-score war- 
 riors bent their bows. Among the twisted stems 
 of the alders they pulled and strangled, like beasts 
 of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs 
 and knives, feeling for one another in the dark. 
 Their war-cries and shouts of hate rang fearfully 
 on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along the 
 valley. 
 
 In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought 
 like a man. His lack of stature saved him from 
 death more than once in that fearful encounter. 
 Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed 
 him altogether, as he stumbled and bent among the 
 alders. At first he fought with a long, flint knife, 
 the work of the old arrow-maker. But this 
 was splintered in his hand by the murderous stroke 
 of a war-club. He wrenched a spear from the 
 clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went 
 down before his unexpected lunge. It rolled over; 
 then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. An arrow 
 from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled 
 its shaft among the dry twigs, and struck a glanc-
 
 The Fight in the Meadow 21 
 
 ing blow on the young brave's neck. He stumbled, 
 grabbing at the shadows. He fell and forgot 
 the fight. 
 
 In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wig- 
 wams were overthrown, and about the little fires 
 warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the 
 encampment was cleared, and saved from destruc- 
 tion; and those of the invaders who remained be- 
 side the trampled fires had ceased to menace. Along 
 the black edges of the forest ran the cries and 
 tumult of the struggle. Spent arrows floated on 
 the lagoon. Red knives lifted and turned in the 
 underbrush. 
 
 Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to 
 the lodges of his people. Other warriors were 
 returning. They came exultant, with the lust of 
 fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode 
 arrogantly. Some crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. 
 Some staggered to the home fires and reeled against 
 the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer 
 circle of light. And many came not at all. 
 
 The chief, with a great gash high on his breast 
 (he had bared arms and breast for the battle), 
 sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of 
 alders, and at last, returning to the disordered 
 camp, found Wolf Slayer. With a glad, high
 
 22 Brothers of Peril 
 
 shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his arms 
 and carried him home. The mother met them at 
 the door of the lodge. In fearful silence the man 
 and woman washed and bound the young brave's 
 wound, and watched above his faint breathing with 
 anxious hearts. 
 
 " Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn 
 of the dark trail," whispered the mother. " See, 
 our fires are bright to guide you back to your own 
 people." 
 
 " Little chief, though this battle is ended, there 
 are many good fights yet to come," whispered the 
 father. " The fighters of the camp will have great 
 need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old 
 bear grumbles at the mouth of his den ! will you 
 not be with us when we singe his fur ? " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " cried the woman. 
 
 The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his 
 spirit from the dark trail. 
 
 " I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, 
 " and the hunting-song of dead braves was in my 
 ears." 
 
 Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and 
 strength. Not once not even at the edge of 
 Death's domain had his arfogance left him. It 
 seemed that the days of suffering had but hardened
 
 The Fight in the Meadow 23 
 
 his already hard heart. Lad though he was, the 
 villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon 
 them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the 
 camp.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 
 
 IN the dead of winter in that season of sweep- 
 ing winds and aching skies, when the wide barrens 
 lie uncheered of life from horizon to horizon 
 Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. 
 They followed in the " leads " of the great herds 
 of caribou, going partly for the meat of the deer 
 and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the 
 Southern enemy. At the head of this party went 
 Panounia, chief of the village on the River of Three 
 Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf 
 Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. 
 Grim tales were told around the big fire at night. 
 The evil thing which Panounia hatched, with his 
 bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by 
 night. The hearts of the warriors were fired with 
 the shameful flame. They dreamed things that had 
 never happened, and wrought black visions out of 
 the foolishnesses of their brains. 
 
 " The bear nods," they repeated, one to another, 
 24
 
 Ouenwa Sets Out on a Quest 25 
 
 after the chief had talked to them. " The bear 
 nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. But 
 for Panounia, surely the men of the South would 
 have scattered our lodges and led us, captive, to 
 the playgrounds of their children and their squaws. 
 Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, 
 for is not our Great Chief an old woman himself? " 
 
 So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, 
 the foxes barked at his power. The moon heard 
 it, and the silent trees, and the wind which carries 
 no messages. 
 
 About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft 
 Hand, decided to make a journey of many days 
 from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the 
 Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern 
 invasion. His eyes longed for a sight of the edges 
 of the land and the breast of the great waters be- 
 yond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour 
 of mighty wooden canoes walled higher than the 
 peak of a wigwam, and manned by loud-mouthed 
 warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. 
 Some wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, 
 hinted that the strangers were gods. He told many 
 wonderful stories to back his argument. Soft Hand 
 nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head. 
 
 " Would gods make such flights for the sake
 
 26 Brothers of Peril 
 
 of a few dried fishes and a few dressed pelts of 
 beaver and fox ? " he asked. 
 
 " The gods of trade would do so," replied the 
 wiseacre. " Also," he added, " they slay at great 
 distances by means of brown stakes which are flame- 
 tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced." 
 
 " But do these gods not fight with knives long 
 knives and short?" inquired the lad. "I have 
 heard it said that they sometimes fall out over the 
 ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do." 
 
 " And what wonderful knives they are," cried 
 the old gossip. " They are coloured like ice. They 
 gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning 
 against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, 
 and the red blood follows the edge as surely as 
 the rains follow April." 
 
 " I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, 
 " and in my heart I pray that they be but men, 
 for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless 
 companions to our people." 
 
 At that Soft Hand looked up. " Are the seasons 
 not arranged to your liking, boy ? " he asked, 
 quietly. 
 
 "Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; 
 " but strange men promise better and safer com- 
 pany than strange gods." 
 
 Now he was journeying toward the ocean of
 
 Ouenwa Sets Out on a Quest 27 
 
 his dreaming and the ports of his desire. His eyes 
 would search the headlands of fog. Out of the 
 east, and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes 
 of the strangers. But the journey was a hard one. 
 The boy's only companion was a man of small 
 stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief 
 could well spare. They took their way down the 
 frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food and 
 sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind 
 came out of a steel-blue sky, unshifting and relent- 
 less. The dry snow ran before it over the level 
 surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across 
 their path. At the approach of night they sought 
 the wooded shore, and in the shelter of the firs built 
 their fire. 
 
 During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but 
 a cheerless companion. He had no heart for any 
 adventure that might take him beyond the scent 
 of his people's cooking-fires. He considered the 
 conversation of his young master but a poor sub- 
 stitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant 
 fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncom- 
 forted. He hated the weariness of the march and 
 dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of the 
 wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, 
 the voice of some evil spirit. The barking of a 
 fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. The howl
 
 28 Brothers of Peril 
 
 of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping 
 of a hare in the underbrush was enough to shake 
 his poor wits with fright. But he feared the anger 
 of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so 
 held to Ouenwa and his mission. 
 
 On the third day of the journey the blue sky 
 thickened to gray, the wind veered, and a great 
 storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes 
 were large and damp. The travellers turned aside 
 and climbed the bank of the river to the thickets 
 of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they 
 broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves 
 a shelter in the heart of the wood. Into this they 
 drew their sledge of provisions and their sleeping- 
 bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they 
 could find dead twigs and branches, tree-moss 
 and birch bark and, with his ingenious contriv- 
 ance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a 
 blaze. They roasted dried venison by holding it 
 to the flame on the ends of pointed sticks. Each 
 cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. 
 All creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was 
 not a sound save the occasional soft hiss of a melt- 
 ing snowflake in the fire. The storm became denser. 
 It was as if a sudden, colourless night had de- 
 scended upon the wilderness, blotting out even the 
 nearer trees with its reeling gray. The old re-
 
 Ouenwa Sets Out on a Quest 29 
 
 tainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm 
 from between his bony knees. His eyes fairly pro- 
 truded with superstitious terror. 
 
 "What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The 
 awe of the storm was creeping over his courage 
 like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The 
 old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa 
 drew closer to him, and heaped dry moss on the 
 fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle 
 of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall. 
 
 " Hark ! " whispered the old man. Yes, it was 
 the sound of muffled footsteps, approaching behind 
 the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The boy's 
 blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. 
 He clutched his companion with frenzied hands. 
 The fear of all the devils and shapeless beings of 
 the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling 
 snow loomed a great figure. It emerged into the 
 glow of the fire. 
 
 "Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with 
 relief. For their visitor was nothing more terrible 
 than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them 
 cordially, and told them that, but for the glow 
 of their fire, he would have been lost. 
 
 " But what are you doing here an old man 
 and a child?" he asked. 
 
 Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity,
 
 3O Brothers of Peril 
 
 and his intention of dwelling with the great arrow- 
 maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn wisdom. 
 
 " Then are we well met," replied the other, " for 
 my lodge is not half a spear-throw from the lodge 
 of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a 
 father to me since the day he saved my wife from 
 death. Now I hunt for him, and work at his craft, 
 and have left the river to be near him. My children 
 play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and 
 meat. Truly the old man has changed since the 
 return of laughter and friendship to his lodge." 
 
 The stranger's name was Black Feather. He 
 was taller than the average Beothic, and broad of 
 shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and 
 one lock of it, which was worn longer than the 
 rest, was plaited with jet-black feathers. His gar- 
 ments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins that 
 reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers 
 of dressed leather, and leggins and moccasins of 
 the same material. Around his waist was a broad 
 belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcu- 
 pine quills. His head was uncovered. 
 
 Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, 
 and replied, good-naturedly, and at great length, 
 to the youth's many questions. He told of the 
 high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen 
 four of these monsters swinging together in the
 
 Ouenwa Sets Out on a Quest 31 
 
 tide, with little boats plying between them, and 
 banners red as the sunset flapping above them. 
 He told of trading with the strangers, and described 
 their manner of spreading out lengths of bright 
 cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks 
 of strong drink. 
 
 " Their knives are edged with magic," he said. 
 " Many of them carry weapons called muskets, 
 which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at even 
 a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might 
 loose four arrows in the time that they are con- 
 juring forth the spirit of the musket." 
 
 The storm continued throughout the day and 
 night, but the morning broke clear. The travellers 
 crawled from their weighted shelter and looked with 
 gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After 
 a hearty breakfast, they set out on the last stage 
 of their journey. Their racquets of spruce wood 
 woven across with strips of caribou hide sank deep 
 in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at 
 every step. But they held cheerfully on their way. 
 Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot Friend, the 
 old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by 
 which they dragged the sledge passed over the 
 right shoulder of each, and was grasped in the 
 right hand. After several hours of tramping along 
 the level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned
 
 32 Brothers of Peril 
 
 toward the western bank and led them into the 
 woods. Presently, after experiencing several dif- 
 ficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren 
 beyond the fringe of timber. They ascended a 
 treeless knoll that rounded in front of them, blind- 
 ingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend 
 grumbled and sighed, and might just as well have 
 been on the sledge, for all the pulling he did. On 
 reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept 
 his arm before him with a gesture of finality. " Be- 
 hold!" he said. 
 
 An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's 
 lips, and died half-uttered. Before him lay a 
 wedge of foam-crested winter sea beating out 
 against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and 
 left were sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave- 
 washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, and crouching 
 headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness 
 and shortness of breath for the moment, and sur- 
 veyed the outlook in silence. It was many years 
 since he had been so far afield. His little soul was 
 fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real 
 nature reasserted itself. He pointed with his hand. 
 
 "Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of 
 two lodges. Good ! " 
 
 Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear 
 the old man's cry of joy.
 
 Ouenwa Sets Out on a Quest 33 
 
 " I see the edge of the world," he said. 
 
 " But the ships come over it, and go down be- 
 hind it," replied Black Feather. 
 
 " That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was 
 filled with his old impudence at sight of the fire 
 and the lodges. " No canoe would venture on 
 the great salt water. I say it, who have built many 
 canoes. And, if they voyaged so far, they would 
 slip off into the caves of the Fog Devils. I believe 
 nothing of all these stories of the strangers and 
 their winged canoes." 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the boy, turning on him with 
 flashing eyes. " What do you know of how far 
 men will venture ? you, who have but heart 
 enough to stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon." 
 
 " I have brought you safely through great dan- 
 gers," whined the old fellow. 
 
 Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his 
 visitors cordially, and was grateful for the kind 
 messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the 
 gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge 
 and education of Ouenwa. He set the unheroic 
 Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, 
 and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa 
 the craft of chipping flints into shapes for spear- 
 heads and arrow-heads, and the art of painting, in 
 ochre, on leather and birch bark.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR 
 
 SPRING brought ice-floes and bergs from the 
 north, and millions of Greenland seals. For 
 weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black 
 Feather had their lodges was choked with batter- 
 ing ice-pans and crippled bergs. Many of the 
 tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. 
 Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to 
 Ouenwa, so that the boy might trade with the 
 strangers when they arrived out of the waste of 
 waters. 
 
 At last summer came to the great Bay of Ex- 
 ploits, and with it many ships ships of England, 
 of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were 
 in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this 
 time the ice had rotted, and drifted southward. 
 The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the 
 English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was 
 the Devon ship, Heart of the West. Her master, 
 John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, and 
 
 34
 
 The Admiral of the Harbour 35 
 
 hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, 
 by the laws of those waters, he was Admiral of 
 Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was not 
 long before every harbour had its admiral, in 
 every case the master of the first vessel to drop 
 anchor there. The shores were portioned off in 
 strips, so that each ship might have a place for 
 drying-stages, whereon to cure its fish. Then the 
 great business of garnering that rich harvest of 
 the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the 
 shouting of orders in many tongues, and the vol- 
 leying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching the animated 
 scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one 
 of the strange vessels, and to taste the world that 
 lay beyond the rim of the sea. 
 
 One day, soon after their arrival, three men 
 from the Heart of the West ascended the twisting 
 path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old crafts- 
 man and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to 
 meet them without fear, for up to that time the 
 adventurers and the natives had been on the best 
 of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the 
 Beothics. They displayed a handful of coloured 
 glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a few sticks 
 of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight 
 of the Virginian leaf. He had already learned the 
 trick of drawing on the stem of a pipe and blowing
 
 36 Brothers of Peril 
 
 fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said that 
 to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. 
 And all winter he had gone without a puff. He 
 produced a mink skin from his lodge and exchanged 
 it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black 
 Feather also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and 
 beaver for a piece of cloth, a dozen beads, and a 
 knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the 
 strangers. One of them he recognized as the great 
 captain who shouted and swore at the captains of 
 the other ships, and pointed out to them places 
 where they might anchor their ships for it was 
 none other than Master John Trowley. The young 
 man with the gold lace in his hat, and the long 
 sword at his side surely, he, too, was a chief, 
 despite his quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's 
 surmise was correct. The youth was Master Ber- 
 nard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of 
 Bristol. His father, who had been knighted a few 
 years before his premature death, had been a mer- 
 chant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The 
 son inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free 
 from the bondage of the counting-house. The third 
 of the party was a common seaman. That much 
 Ouenwa could detect at a glance. 
 
 Master Kingswell stepped over to the young 
 Beothic.
 
 The Admiral of the Harbour 37 
 
 "Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a 
 string of glass beads in the palm of his hand. 
 Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words 
 of English as Montaw had taught him, and he 
 feared that they would prove entirely inadequate 
 for the purpose that was in his mind. However, 
 he would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and 
 then to the far and glinting horizon. 
 
 " Take Ouenwa ? " he whispered, scarce above 
 his breath. 
 
 " To see the ship ? " inquired Master Kingswell. 
 
 " Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. 
 "Out, off!" 
 
 Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. 
 The young Beothic bent a keen glance upon him; 
 then he tapped himself on the chest. 
 
 " Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the 
 Englishman by the coat. " Come, chief, come," he 
 cried, eagerly. 
 
 Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. 
 Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of caribou hide that 
 covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor 
 to enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. 
 He had heard many tales of the treachery of these 
 people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom 
 of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not 
 lack courage; and, before the other had time to
 
 38 Brothers of Peril 
 
 notice the hesitation, he stepped within. The flap 
 of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for 
 the red glow that pulsated from the hearthstone 
 in the centre of the floor, and the fingers of sun- 
 light that thrust through the cracks in the apex 
 of the roof, the big lodge was unilluminated. 
 
 " What do you want? " asked Master Kingswell, 
 with his shoulders against the slope of the roof 
 and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For answer, 
 Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until 
 it flared smoky red, and then lifted it high. The 
 light of it flooded the sombre place, showing up 
 the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a 
 great bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. 
 Then he pressed the palm of his hand against the 
 Englishman's breast. 
 
 " Ouenwa give beaver," he said. " Take Ouenwa 
 Englan'. Much good trade." 
 
 Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in 
 the way of carrying out the young Beothic's wish. 
 The other savages might object. They might look 
 on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kid- 
 napped before from the eastern bays, and, though 
 they had been well treated, and made pets of in 
 England, their people had ceased to trade with 
 the visitors, and all their friendship had turned 
 to treachery and hostility. On the other hand,
 
 The Admiral of the Harbour 39 
 
 he should like to take the youth home with him. 
 He tried to explain his position to Ouenwa, but 
 failed signally. They parted, however, with the 
 most friendly feelings toward one another. 
 
 After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa 
 spent most of his time gazing longingly at the ships 
 in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, and 
 the countries from which they had come. One 
 morning Kingswell called to him. from the land- 
 wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. 
 Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat wiiich the 
 carpenter of the Heart of the West had just com- 
 pleted. Then, by signs and a few words, he told 
 Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little 
 craft, to explore the coast, and that he would be 
 back with the fleet before the birch leaves were 
 yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expe- 
 dition and afterward across the seas. He offered 
 his canoe-load of beaver skins. He tried to tell of 
 his great desire to see the lodges of the strangers, 
 and to learn their speech. He did not want to live 
 the life of his own people. Kingswell caught the 
 general trend of the Beothic's remarks. He had 
 no objection to driving a good bargain. So he 
 made clear to him that he was to come alongside 
 the ship, with the beaver skins, on the following 
 night.
 
 40 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The sky was black with clouds, and a fog 
 wrapped the harbour, when Ouenwa stepped into his 
 loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot where 
 Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his 
 skins from Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, 
 without disturbing the slumbers of either his guar- 
 dian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and 
 thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. 
 Sounds of roistering came to his ears, muffled by 
 the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed close 
 ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed 
 a tremendous thing to the lad, though in truth she 
 w*as but of one hundred tons. Singing and laughter 
 were ripe aboard. 
 
 For the first time a fear of the strangers took 
 possession of Ouenwa. Even his trust in Kingswell 
 faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, with 
 bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and 
 the clapping oaths. Then curiosity overcame his 
 fear. He slid his long canoe under the stem of 
 the Heart of the West. A cheering glow of candle- 
 light yellowed the fog above him. He stood up 
 and found that his head was on a level with the 
 sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard 
 Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master- 
 mariner's was gusty and argumentative. It broke 
 out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail,
 
 The Admiral of the Harbour 41 
 
 Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the 
 casing of the open port, and lifted to tiptoe. Now 
 he could see into the little cabin, and hear the con- 
 versation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, 
 he could understand only a word or two of that 
 conversation. He saw Kingswell and the master of 
 the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. 
 Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bot- 
 tle, and glasses. The old sea-dog's bearded face 
 was wiorking with excitement. He slapped his great 
 flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the 
 board. 
 
 " Now who be master o' this ship ? " he bawled. 
 "Tell me that, will 'e. Who be master?" 
 
 " I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John 
 Trowley," replied Kingswell, with a ring of anger 
 in his voice, but a smile on his lips. 
 
 " Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," 
 roared the other, glaring so hard that his round, 
 pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. " An' no 
 dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a 
 servant, or afore the mast, no, not if he pays his 
 passage with all th' pelts in Newfoundland." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kings- 
 well. " I'll carry fifty of these people back to Bris- 
 tol, if it so pleases me."
 
 42 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," re- 
 torted the seaman. 
 
 " You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, 
 drawing back his right hand as if to strike the 
 great, scowling face that bent toward him across 
 the table. 
 
 " Drunk, d'ye say ! An' ye'd lift yer hand against 
 the ship's master, would ye?" shouted Trowley. 
 He lurched forward, and a knife flashed above the 
 overturned bottle and glasses. 
 
 Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled 
 his paddle spear-wise into the cabin. The rounded 
 point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of 
 the head, and sent him crashing to the deck.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER 
 
 WHEN Trowley recovered consciousness, he was 
 lying in his berth, with a bandage around his head. 
 Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way that 
 the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as 
 hate. 
 
 " I hope you are feeling more amiable since your 
 sleep," said Kingswell. 
 
 Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, 
 damned the rum, and asked the time of day. His 
 recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy 
 and fragmentary. 
 
 In reply to his question the gentleman told him 
 that the sun was well up, the fog cleared, and that 
 he was having his boat provisioned for the coast- 
 wise exploration trip. 
 
 " And mind you," he added, grimly, " that the 
 eighty beaver skins which are now 1 being stowed 
 away in my berth are my property." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. " An' may 
 43
 
 44 Brothers of Peril 
 
 I ask how ye come by such a power o' trade in a 
 night-time? " 
 
 " Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He 
 grinned at the wounded skipper for fully a minute, 
 leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said : 
 " I'll now bid you farewell until October. Don't 
 sail without me, good Master Trowley, and look 
 not upon the rum of the Indies when that same 
 is red. A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might 
 lead to the gallows." 
 
 He turned and nimbly scaled the companion- 
 ladder, leaving the shipmaster speechless with rage. 
 
 Half an hour later the staunch little craft Peli- 
 can spread her square sail and slid away from the 
 Heart of tfie West. She was manned by old Tom 
 Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clot- 
 worthy. Master Bernard Kingswell sat at the til- 
 ler, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, 
 extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed 
 amidships and covered with sail-cloth. The sun 
 was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled 
 them along at a clipping pace. From a mound 
 above the harbour Black Feather gazed after them 
 under a level hand. In the little harbour Trowley's 
 ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others 
 had run out to the fishing-grounds, for in those 
 days the fishing was done over the sides of the
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 45 
 
 ships, and not from small boats. On either side 
 the brown shores fell back, and the dancing waters 
 widened and widened. White gulls screamed above 
 and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy 
 breasts, and inquisitive eyes. 
 
 Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt 
 a great misgiving. But Kingswell patted him on 
 the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads at 
 him and grinned. 
 
 Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, 
 high-sterned vessels rocked and bobbed under naked 
 spars. The great business that had brought them 
 so far was going forward. Along both sides of 
 every ship were hung barrels, and in each barrel 
 was stationed a man with two or more fishing- 
 lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were 
 hauled up, unhooked, and tossed to the deck be- 
 hind. As the little Pelican slid by, the fishers 
 paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their 
 caps. The masters shouted " God speed " from 
 their narrow quarter-decks, and doffed their hats. 
 Kingswell waved them gracious farewells ; Ouenwa 
 gazed spellbound toward the widening outlook; and 
 Tom Bent trimmed the sail to a nicety. 
 
 They passed headland after headland, rocky 
 island after rocky island, cove after cove. The 
 shores behind them turned from brown to purple,
 
 46 Brothers of Peril 
 
 and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher 
 and the wind freshened. Kingswell shaped the 
 boat's course a few points to the northward. The 
 stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged 
 like some less playful creature. Spray flew over 
 her blunt bows, and the sailors laughed like chil- 
 dren, and called her a brave lass, and many other 
 endearing names, as if she were human. 
 
 " A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master 
 Kingswell. The commander nodded, and shifted the 
 tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing with 
 the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, 
 pale hair streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, 
 to pick out the course through a group of small 
 islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He 
 gave an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet 
 sheet. But Ouenwa did not share the high spirits 
 of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling 
 got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. 
 Kingswell glanced at him. 
 
 " Let it go, lad," he said. " A sailor is made in 
 this way. Tom, pass me along a blanket." 
 
 With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfort- 
 able rest for the boy, and helped him to a drink of 
 water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold 
 on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the 
 soaring and sinking of the Pelican were enough to
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 47 
 
 unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As for 
 Ouenwa ! the poor lad simply clung to the 
 gunwale with the grip of despair, and entertained 
 regretful, beautiful visions of level shores and un- 
 shaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly. 
 
 " The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. 
 " Maybe, like as not, a swig o' rum ud sweeten 
 his bilge, sir." 
 
 Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The 
 rank liquor completed the boy's breakdown. In 
 so doing it served the purpose which Bent had in- 
 tended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, 
 already half a sailor. 
 
 When Ou-enwa next took interest in his sur- 
 roundings, the Pelican had the surf of a sheer 
 coast close aboard on her port side. She was 
 heading due north. The sun was half-way down 
 his western slope. Behind the Pelican's bubbling 
 wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens 
 lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, 
 and on the right hand, loomed surf-rimmed islands 
 and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering yet un- 
 changed hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent 
 was now at the tiller, and Kingswell was in the 
 bows, gazing intently at the austere coast. Ouenwa 
 crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, 
 under the straining sail, and crouched beside him.
 
 48 Brothers of Peril 
 
 His head felt light and his stomach painfully empty, 
 but again life seemed worth living and the adven- 
 ture worth while. 
 
 About an hour before sunset the Pelican ran into 
 a little cove, and her two grappling anchors were 
 heaved overboard. She lay within five yards of the 
 land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa 
 sprang into the water and waded ashore. It was 
 a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of shingle, 
 and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. 
 But at the base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, 
 grew stunted spruce-trees and birches. Ouenwa 
 soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course 
 from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, 
 in a shallow basin at the foot of the rock, and from 
 there spilled over into the obliterating sand. 
 
 By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy 
 hacked down a couple of armfuls of the spruce and 
 birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a fire. 
 Then he filled a pot from the little well and com- 
 menced preparations for a meal. The other seamen 
 erected a shelter, composed of a sail and three oars, 
 against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a 
 convenient boulder, and the commander filled a 
 long pipe with tobacco and lit it at a brand from 
 the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a mood 
 to further his young companion's education. Point-
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 49 
 
 ing to the roll of Virginian leaf, from which he had 
 cut the charge for his pipe, he said, " Tobacco." 
 Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his 
 comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old 
 Tom Bent, who was watching Clotworthy drop 
 lumps of dried venison into the pot of water. 
 
 " Boatswain," he said. 
 
 Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term 
 " able seamen," applied to Clotworthy and Peter 
 Harding. By that time the stew was ready for 
 them. They were all sound asleep, under their frail 
 shelter, before the last glimmer of twilight was gone 
 from the sky. 
 
 It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale 
 flood of dawn illumined the tent and the recum- 
 bent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. 
 Tom Bent and Harding were not in their places. 
 The boy wondered at that, but was about to close 
 his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet 
 by a shrill cry that went ringing overhead and 
 echoing along the cliffs. He darted from the tent, 
 with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. 
 Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of 
 the beach, with their backs to the sea, staring up- 
 ward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces, 
 in the same direction. They were amazed to see 
 about a dozen native warriors on the cliff above
 
 50 Brothers of Peril 
 
 them, fully armed, and evidently deeply interested 
 in what was going on in the little cove. One of 
 them was pointing to the Pelican, and talking vehe- 
 mently to the brave beside him. In two of them 
 Ouemva recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his 
 father, the chief of the village on the River of 
 Three Fires. He called up to them, and asked what 
 brought them so far from their village. 
 
 " We are at the salt water to take the fish," re- 
 plied Wolf Slayer, " and we saw the smoke of your 
 fire before the last darkness. But what do you 
 with the great strangers, little Dreamer ? " 
 
 " They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, " and 
 I am voyaging with them to learn wisdom." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" asked Kings- 
 well. 
 
 The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent 
 and provisions and then to the boat. " Put in," 
 he said. 
 
 At a word from Kingswell the three sailors 
 quickly dismantled their night's shelter and carried 
 the sail, the oars, and such food and blankets as 
 they had brought ashore, out to the Pelican. At 
 that the shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along 
 the cliffs. 
 
 " What does that mean ? " inquired Kingswell. 
 
 " Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly.
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 51 
 
 "What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" 
 called Wolf Slayer. 
 
 " Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," 
 Ouenwa cried back, with indignation in his voice. 
 
 " Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, 
 my friend," replied Wolf Slayer, " or you would 
 not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe." 
 
 Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded 
 so dismally across the dawn a few moments before, 
 five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared on 
 the top of the cliff for the cry was the hunting- 
 call of the tribe. 
 
 " Do you fish with war-bows ? " shouted Ouenwa. 
 " And why do you summon to trade with the cry 
 of the hunt?" 
 
 " You ask too many questions, even for a seeker 
 of wisdom," replied the other youth, mockingly. 
 
 " Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that 
 the foxes bark with such assurance ? " retorted 
 Ouenwa. 
 
 By this time the Pelican was ready to put out 
 of the cove. Both anchors were up, and Harding 
 and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. Old 
 Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with some- 
 thing beside the mast. Suddenly a bow-string 
 twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the 
 sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone
 
 52 Brothers of Peril 
 
 and, glancing out, rattled against Harding's oar. 
 Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into the 
 water. Above them, silhouetted against the light- 
 ening sky, they saw bending bows and downward 
 thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and 
 a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the war- 
 riors on the cliff. The echoes of the discharge 
 bellowed around and around the rock-girt harbour. 
 Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke 
 and climbed aboard, and the seamen pushed into 
 deep water and then bent to their oars. But the 
 Pelican proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt 
 bows and comfortable beam. She surged slowly 
 beyond the cloud of bitter smoke that the musket 
 had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the 
 voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants 
 and, behold, the great warriors were not to be 
 seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as 
 if the incident \vere a fine joke; but Ouenwa was 
 hot with shame and anger. He stood erect and 
 shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He called 
 upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cow- 
 ardly faces. He threatened them with the dis- 
 pleasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of the 
 English. A figure appeared on the sky-line. 
 
 " You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. " Know 
 you, then, that Soft Hand set out on the Long Trail
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 53 
 
 four suns ago, when he marched into my village to 
 dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great 
 chief of the people. So carry yourself accordingly, 
 O whelp without teeth and without a den to crawl 
 into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of 
 the totem of the Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! 
 Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, your 
 father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling 
 babe." He paused for a moment, and held out a 
 gleaming knife, with its point toward the Pelican. 
 " The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great 
 lodge," he cried. 
 
 Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the 
 cliff was lined with warriors. Like a sudden flight 
 of birds their arrows flashed outward and down- 
 ward. 
 
 " Lie down ! " cried Kingswell. With a strong 
 hand he snatched Ouenwa to the bottom of the boat. 
 Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between 
 the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the 
 naked mast, did not move. The arrows thumped 
 against plank and gunwale. They pierced the 
 cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and 
 mast. One, turning from the rail, struck Bent on 
 the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not look 
 for the wound. His match was burning with a 
 thread of blue smoke and a spark of red fire. His
 
 54 Brothers of Peril 
 
 clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an impromptu 
 swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the 
 muzzle. 
 
 " Steady her," he said, softly. " She's driftin' 
 in." 
 
 Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, 
 thrust it to the bottom, and held the boat as steady 
 as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He 
 shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors 
 above him. Tom touched the slow-match to the 
 quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A 
 plume of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound 
 that shook the boat from stem to stern, the gun 
 hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of 
 hate. 
 
 " Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from 
 where he sagged against the mast. The kick of 
 his musket had hurt him more than the blow from 
 the arrow. 
 
 Again the Pelican fought her way toward the 
 open waters, with Harding and Clotworthy pulling 
 lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and joy- 
 ful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, 
 through which the tide was running landward at 
 a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading his firearm. 
 Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow 
 in his left hand and an arrow on the string. A
 
 The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer 55 
 
 breath of wind brushed the smoke aside and cleared 
 the view. Ouenwa pointed' to the beach, and gave 
 vent to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others 
 looked, and saw a huddled shape of bronzed limbs 
 and painted leather at the foot of the rock. 
 
 " One more red devil for hell," muttered the 
 boatswain. " I learned mun to shoot his pesky 
 sticks at a Bristol gentleman." 
 
 As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from 
 the mast, not six inches from the old man's head. 
 Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The 
 shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught 
 the boy, and with all the hate that was in his heart 
 for the big murderer on the cliff. Every man of 
 the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the 
 flight of it. They saw it curve. They saw a war- 
 rior drop his bow from his menacing hand and sink 
 to his knees. 
 
 " The w'olf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own 
 tongue. " The wolf bites the moss. Who, now, 
 is the wolf slayer? " 
 
 The Englishmen cheered again and again, and 
 the good boat Pelican, urged forward by triumphant 
 sinews, won through the channel and swam into the 
 outer waters.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SILENT VILLAGE 
 
 As soon as the Pelican was out of arrow-shot 
 of the cliff, the Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa 
 laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. Then 
 he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard 
 from Panounia. After a deal of questioning, sign- 
 making, and mental exertion, the Englishman gath- 
 ered the information that treachery and murder had 
 taken place up the river, and that his young friend 
 hated the new leader of the tribe with a bitter 
 hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He 
 looked at the young savage's flushed face and glow- 
 ing eyes with sympathy and admiration. His lik- 
 ing for the boy had grown in every hour of their 
 companionship, and, by this time, had developed 
 into a decided fondness. 
 
 " Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he 
 said, with a light hand on the other's knee. " Your 
 enemies are my enemies," he continued, " and we'll 
 fight the dogs every time we see 'em." 
 
 56
 
 The Silent Village 57 
 
 Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He 
 was soothed by the evident kindliness of Kingswell's 
 tone and manner, though he had failed to translate 
 his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught 
 the w'ords, however. They nodded heavily to one 
 another. 
 
 " Ye say the very word what was in my mind, 
 sir," spoke up Tom Bent, " an', if I may make so 
 bold as to say further, your enemies be your ser- 
 vants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's ene- 
 mies must be our enemies, holus bolus." The other 
 sailors nodded decidedly. " Therefore," continued 
 Tom Bent, " all they cowardly heathen aft on the 
 cliff has to reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent 
 an' the crew o' this craft." 
 
 " Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with 
 the smile that always won him the heart and hand 
 of every man he favoured with it, and of every 
 maid, too, more than likely. " But we can't en- 
 thuse on empty stomachs. Pass out the bread and 
 the cold meat," he added. 
 
 For fully two hours the Pelican rocked about 
 within half a mile of her night's anchorage. Kings- 
 well was not in a desperate hurry, and so his men 
 pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat 
 clear of the rocks. A sharp lookout was kept along
 
 58 Brothers of Peril 
 
 the coast, but not a sight nor a sound of the Beo- 
 thics rewarded their vigilance. 
 
 " They be up to some devilment, ye may lay 
 to that," said Tom Bent. 
 
 At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'- 
 east, and the square sail was hoisted and sheeted 
 home. Again the Pelican dipped her bows and wet 
 her rail on the voyage of exploration. 
 
 After two hours of sailing, and just when they 
 were off the mouth of a little river and a fair valley, 
 a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for running 
 in, but Ouenwa objected. 
 
 " Panounia follow," he said. " He great angry. 
 Drop irons," he added, pointing to the little anchors. 
 
 " Panounia is wounded. You winged him your- 
 self," replied Kingswell. " He could not follow us 
 around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming." 
 
 Ouenwa considered the words with puckered 
 brows. They were beyond him. The commander 
 pointed shoreward. 
 
 " All safe," he said. " All safe." 
 
 " No, no," cried the lad. " All kill. No safe." 
 
 During this controversy the sail had been partly 
 lowered, and the Pelican had been slowly running 
 landward with the fog. 
 
 Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the 
 seamen with a smile of whimsical uncertainty.
 
 The Silent Village 59 
 
 " Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," re- 
 marked Tom Bent, with his deep-set eyes fixed on 
 nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, 
 for a moment, on the ancient mariner. 
 
 " Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, 
 and was quickly stowed. " Let go the anchors," 
 he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the 
 gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and 
 shut her off from land and sky. With a last dreary 
 whistle, the wind died out entirely. 
 
 " Rip me ! " exclaimed Master Kings well, " but 
 here is caution that smells remarkably like coward- 
 ice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, to- 
 bacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke 
 was mingling with the fog. The young commander 
 leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, like 
 the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit 
 of burning Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, 
 confined to the wealthy and the adventurous. The 
 seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, 
 watched their captain with open interest. When 
 a puff was blown through the nostrils, or sent aloft 
 in a series of rings, they nudged one another, like 
 children at a show. By this time the walls of fog 
 had made of the Pelican a tiny, lost world by itself. 
 Suddenly Ouenwa raised his hand. "Sh!" he 
 whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from
 
 60 Brothers of Peril 
 
 his mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden 
 river and valley. All strained their ears, to wrest 
 some sound from the surrounding gray other than 
 the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. 
 But they could hear nothing. 
 
 " Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing land- 
 ward. 
 
 " But we saw no signs of a village," protested 
 Kingswell, gently. 
 
 " Village," repeated the lad. " Ouenwa hear. 
 Ouenwa smell." 
 
 Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff 
 the fog, like hounds taking a scent on the wind. 
 But their nostrils were not the nostrils of either 
 hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. 
 They shook their heads. Kingswell wagged a 
 chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. The 
 boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Village," he whispered, shrilly. " Village, vil- 
 lage, village." 
 
 Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned 
 leniently at the determined boy. They had great 
 faith in their own noses, had those mariners of 
 Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, 
 sank into a moody contemplation of the fog. 
 
 " This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a half-
 
 The Silent Village 6 1 
 
 hour of silence. " Tom, pipe us a stave, like a 
 good lad." 
 
 The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. 
 Presently he cleared his throat with energy. 
 
 " Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once 
 were," he murmured, " but I'll do me best an' 
 no sailorman can say fairer nor that." 
 
 Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a 
 sea-fight, in a high, tottering tenor. The song 
 dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, 
 with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splin- 
 ters. Harding joined in the chorus with a boom- 
 ing bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon 
 followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong 
 and wonderfully melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed 
 and his muscles trembled. Though the words held 
 no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing 
 of the tune fired his excitable blood. He forgot 
 all about Panounia, and the suspected village on 
 the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. 
 He beat time to the singing with his moccasined 
 feet, and clapped his hands together in rhythmic 
 appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the 
 ballad was finished. The last member of the craven 
 crew of the Teressa Maria had tasted English steel 
 and been tossed to the sharks. Then Master Kings- 
 well sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty.
 
 62 Brothers of Peril 
 
 It was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows 
 and undying affection. The air was captivating. 
 The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old 
 Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding 
 thought of a Devon orchard, and of a Devon lass 
 at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy 
 saw a cottage beside a little wood, and a woman 
 and a little child gazing seaward and westward 
 from the door. 
 
 For several seconds after the last note had died 
 away, the little company remained silent and mo- 
 tionless, fully occupied with its various thoughts. 
 Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. 
 He laid his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick 
 gesture, and leaned toward him. 
 
 " Canoe," he whispered. 
 
 The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention 
 was repeated a short rap, like the inadvertent 
 striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all 
 heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set 
 to work at getting out cutlasses and loading mus- 
 kets. Kingswell crawled forward and whispered 
 with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and 
 turned to Harding. That sturdy young seaman 
 crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the 
 hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. 
 Kingswell, who had returned to his seat at the
 
 The Silent Village 63 
 
 tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla 
 rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding 
 immediately pulled on his rope until he was directly 
 over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly and 
 slowly, and without noise, he brought the four- 
 fingered iron up and into the bows. They were 
 free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss of 
 only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 The Pelican drifted, and the crew 1 stared into 
 the fog, with wide eyes and alert ears. Then, to 
 seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded 
 a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man 
 the seaward side and Clotworthy and Harding the 
 other. They rested the barrels of their great match- 
 locks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a 
 canoe pierced the curtain of fog not four yards 
 from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the 
 short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a 
 chorus of wild yells. In the excitement that fol- 
 lowed, the others discharged their pieces. Kings- 
 well grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside 
 the tiller and began to " scull " the boat seaward. 
 The men reloaded their muskets and peered into 
 the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all 
 sides, but could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing
 
 64 Brothers of Peril 
 
 erect, discharged arrow after arrow at the hidden 
 enemy. 
 
 The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased 
 entirely. Kingswell passed the oar which he had 
 been using to Harding, and told the men to lay 
 aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his 
 last arrow, in the names of his murdered father 
 and grandfather. 
 
 For a long and weary time the Pelican lay off 
 the hidden land, shrouded in fog and silence. A 
 few hours before sunset a wind from the west found 
 her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the 
 sea and the coast and the open sky. 
 
 " Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, 
 " and hoist the sail. We are going back to have a 
 look at that village." 
 
 The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for 
 a chance to repay the savages for the fright in the 
 dark.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A LETTER FOR OUENWA 
 
 Two headlands were rounded before the valley 
 of the river opened again to the eyes of the 
 adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole 
 down and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten 
 sea. The gradual hillsides, green-swarded, basked 
 in the golden light. The lower levels of the valley 
 were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of 
 his habitation, was disclosed to the voyagers. 
 
 " A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. " I feel a 
 desire stirring within me to stretch my legs on that 
 grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, Tom ? " 
 
 The old fellow grinned. " 'Twould be pleasant, 
 sir, an' no mistake," he replied "a little walk 
 along the brook, with our hands not very far from 
 our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' 
 nater worship." 
 
 The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand 
 well within the mouth of the river. Harding and 
 Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on 
 
 6s
 
 66 Brothers of Peril 
 
 guard, and the other three, fully armed, started 
 along the bank of the stream. They advanced cau- 
 tiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of 
 bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher 
 dropped from its perch above the water and flew 
 up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend 
 of the little river and halted short in their track 
 with muttered exclamations. Before them, on a 
 level meadow between the brown waters of the 
 stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood 
 half a dozen wigwams. The place seemed deserted. 
 They scanned the dark edge of the wood and the 
 brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, ex- 
 pecting to catch the glint of hostile eyes at every 
 turn. But neither grove nor hill, nor silent lodge, 
 disclosed any sign of life. 
 
 "Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kings- 
 well, thoroughly perplexed. 
 
 Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half- 
 circle. 
 
 " Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. 
 "Yes, watch us." 
 
 " He means they are lying around looking at 
 us," said Kingswell to the boatswain. " Rip me, 
 but I don't relish the chance of one of those stone- 
 tipped arrows in my vitals." 
 
 Tom Bent glanced about him in visible trepida-
 
 A Letter for Ouenwa 67 
 
 tion. Ouenwa noticed it, and pointed to the sea- 
 musket. " No 'fraid," he said. " Shoot." 
 
 "What at?" inquired Bent. 
 
 "Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the si- 
 lent wood, dusky in the gathering shadows. 
 
 " He wants you to fire into the wood, and 
 frighten them out," said Kingswell. 
 
 " If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," 
 replied Tom. 
 
 However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its 
 support, aimed at the edge of the forest beyond 
 the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the 
 twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose 
 and quivered in the air. It was answered from the 
 hilltops on both sides of the stream. 
 
 Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was 
 inside the nearest lodge. Kingswell followed, and 
 found him dismantling the couches and walls of 
 their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in 
 the looting. Soon each had all he could handle. 
 They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, 
 with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward 
 the Pelican. They had rounded the bend of the 
 river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet 
 them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an 
 indignant whoop and leaped into the air. His 
 musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against
 
 68 Brothers of Peril 
 
 a stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their 
 bundles and sprang to where he lay, kicking and 
 spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung 
 to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing 
 wildly, and vowing vengeance on the " heathen 
 varment " who had pinked him. 
 
 Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows 
 of the wooded hillside, and Kingswell hoisted the 
 struggling boatswain to his shoulders and continued 
 his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged 
 and implored his commander to put him down, 
 assuring him that he was more surprised than hurt. 
 But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, 
 and did not release him until they were safe beside 
 the Pelican's bows. Just then Ouenwa and the 
 sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All 
 were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired 
 only one arrow, when they might have annihilated 
 the little party with a volley? 
 
 That night the Pelican lay at anchor in the mouth 
 of the river. Twice, during the long, eerie hours 
 between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke his 
 companions; but on both occasions the alarms 
 proved to be false the splashing of a marauding 
 otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding trout. 
 Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and 
 the stream lay as peaceful and deserted as on the
 
 A Letter for Ouenwa 69 
 
 preceding evening. The voyagers ate their break- 
 fast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared 
 the light mist from the water, they got up their 
 anchor and rowed up-stream. Harding and Clot- 
 worthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the com- 
 mander crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, 
 and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. The current was 
 strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the 
 twirling sinews of water. Little patches of spin- 
 drift, from some fall or rapid farther up the river, 
 floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed be- 
 neath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and 
 splashed on either hand, and sent silver circles rip- 
 pling to the toiling boat. A moist, sweet fragrance 
 of foliage and mould and dew filled the air. 
 
 Soon the deserted lodges came into view, stand- 
 ing smokeless and pathetic between the murmuring 
 river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned 
 to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of 
 the wigwams. They landed without incident, and 
 all walked toward the village, with their firearms 
 ready and their matches lighted. They explored 
 every lodge and even beat the underbrush. The 
 dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons 
 and cooking utensils evidently during the night 
 A village of this size must have possessed at least
 
 70 Brothers of Peril 
 
 six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a 
 paddle, could they find. 
 
 " All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, point- 
 ing up-stream. 
 
 " What be this ? " asked Tom Bent, limping 
 toward Kingswell w!ith an arrow and a small square 
 of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, 
 pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wig- 
 wams. Kingswell examined it intently, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 " Pictures," he said. " I suppose it is a letter 
 of some kind, in which their wise man tells us 
 what he thinks of us." 
 
 Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly 
 sketched figures, with which it was covered, with 
 a scornful twist of his face. 
 
 " Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. 
 "See! Very big! Bear" he touched another 
 point of the missive and then tapped his own breast 
 "see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He 
 laughed shrilly, and shook his head. " No, no," 
 he said.' " No, no." 
 
 " What be mun jabberin' about? " muttered Tom 
 Bent. 
 
 Kingswell explained that the bear stood for 
 Ouenvva's family, and that the wolf was the symbol 
 of the people who had killed his grandfather.
 
 A Letter for Ouenwa 71 
 
 The Pelican continued her voyage before noon, 
 and all day skirted an austere and broken coast. 
 She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, steer- 
 ing for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded 
 many islands and braved intricate channels. 
 Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer 
 cape than any of the day's experience, and Kings- 
 well, who had just relieved Harding at the tiller, 
 forsook the straight course and headed up the bay. 
 Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a 
 sheltered roadstead behind an island and just off 
 a wooded cove. They lowered the sail and rowed 
 in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent 
 the night close to the tide, with their muskets and 
 cutlasses beside them, and the watch changed every 
 two hours. 
 
 Three days later the voyagers happened upon 
 a ship. They ran close in to where she lay at an- 
 chor, believing her to be English, and did not dis- 
 cover their mistake until the little tub of a brig 
 opened fire from a brass cannonade. The first shot 
 went wide, and the Pelican lay off with a straining 
 sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended 
 the encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy 
 fishing to get up anchor and give chase. 
 
 Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the 
 incident. " It be the first time," he said, " that I
 
 72 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in Newfound- 
 land. One year I were fishin' in the Maid o' Bris- 
 tol, in Dog's Harbour, Conception, an', though we 
 was last to drop anchor, an' the only English ship 
 agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, 
 our skipper said he were admiral an', by Gad, so 
 he were/' 
 
 But the valorous old mariner did not suggest 
 that they put about and dispute the admiralty of the 
 little harbour which they had just passed.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION 
 
 IN a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with 
 a party of friendly natives. Farther north they 
 found indications of copper, and collected a bagful 
 of the mother rock. In late August a sickness pros- 
 trated Master Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp 
 was made on the mainland. For three weeks the 
 sufferers wre unable to lift their heads. They lost 
 flesh until they were little more than skin and bone. 
 Ouenwa undertook the dual position of physician 
 and nurse. He had some knowledge of the science 
 of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated 
 the malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also 
 managed to kill a young caribou, and fed his pa- 
 tients with broth made from the meat. But it was 
 close upon the end of September when the Pelican 
 again took up her northward journey. 
 
 Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous 
 cruise was the quest of gold. Other explorers had 
 seen gold ore in the possession of the natives, and 
 
 73
 
 74 Brothers of Peril 
 
 he had heard stories of a French sailor having been 
 wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious 
 metal eluded him. Upon gaining the farthest cape 
 of the great island, he wanted to cross the straits 
 and continue his search along the Labrador coast; 
 but the men shook their heads. The boat was too 
 small for the voyage. Their provisions were run- 
 ning low. The northern summer was already far 
 spent. So Kingswell headed the Pelican south- 
 ward. After a week of fair winds, they were 
 caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their 
 stout little craft was shattered while they were in 
 the act of winning to a sheltered anchorage. Every- 
 thing was salvaged; but it took them three days 
 to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even 
 after this unlooked-for delay, the young commander 
 persisted in exploring every likely looking cave and 
 river mouth that had been neglected on the north- 
 ward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it 
 was not in the heart of any sailor to deny the 
 wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as 
 Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations 
 in his partially acquired English helped to keep the 
 company in good spirits. 
 
 It was November, and nipping weather in that 
 northern bay, when the Pelican threaded the islands 
 of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to the
 
 An Unchartered Plantation 75 
 
 eager gaze of her company. The harbour was 
 empty! They had not sighted a vessel in any of 
 the outer reaches of the bay. The drying-stages 
 and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide. 
 
 Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. 
 " They have sailed for home without us," he said, 
 and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed re- 
 flectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker 
 with a mahogany finger. He had grumbled at the 
 chance of this very disaster, but now that he was 
 face to face with it the thought of grumbling did 
 not occur to him. 
 
 " Ay, sir," said he, " the damned rascals has 
 sailed without us an' we are lucky not to be 
 in such dirty company ! " 
 
 He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The 
 colour returned to Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash 
 of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled approv- 
 ingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Hard- 
 ing, being neither as old nor as wise as Bent, nor 
 as cool-headed as Clotw'orthy, had something to 
 say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then 
 " By God," he cried, " here's one man who'd 
 rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty com- 
 pany, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with 
 with you all," he finished, lamely. 
 
 Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young sea-
 
 76 Brothers of Peril 
 
 man with mute indignation in their eyes. But Tom 
 Bent laughed softly. 
 
 " Ay, Peter, boy," he said, " ye be one o' these 
 fine, lion-hearted English mariners what's the pride 
 o' the king an' the terror o' the seas. The likes 
 o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the 
 duff an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice 
 shrilled a little. " Ay, if it wasn't that I know ye 
 for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax 
 cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the 
 fat face o' ye." 
 
 " Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a 
 knowing and well-considered wag of his heavy 
 head. 
 
 Harding, who had delivered his speech from a 
 commanding position on a thwart, sat down very 
 softly, as if anxious not to attract any further at- 
 tention. 
 
 " We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," 
 said Kingswell, cheerfully, " and stock up with 
 enough dried venison to carry us south to Trinity, 
 or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those 
 bays till- the snow flies. At the worst we can sail 
 the old Pelican right 'round to St. John's, and win- 
 ter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad 
 enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the 
 French and the privateers."
 
 An Unchartered Plantation 77 
 
 Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there 
 was no store of dried venison to be obtained from 
 the arrow-maker, for both the old philosopher's 
 lodge and Black Feather's were gone gone utterly, 
 and only the round, level circles on the sward to 
 show where they had stood. What had become of 
 Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. 
 Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand 
 were responsible for their disappearance was shared 
 by the Englishman. All agreed that immediate 
 flight was safer than a further investigation of 
 the mystery. So the storm-beaten, wave-weary 
 Pelican turned seaward again. 
 
 Two days later, toward nightfall, and after hav- 
 ing sailed far up an arm of the sea and into the 
 mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of some 
 belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled 
 and cheered by the sound of a musket-shot. It 
 came from inland, from up the shadowy river. It 
 was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their 
 eager ears like the slamming of a wooden door. 
 But every lonely heart of them knew it for the 
 voice of the black powder. They drifted back a 
 little and lay at anchor all night, just off the mouth 
 of the river. With the dark came the cruel frost. 
 But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and 
 slept. They were astir with the first gray lights,
 
 78 Brothers of Peril 
 
 and before sunrise were pulling cautiously up the 
 middle of the channel. White frost sparkled on 
 thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests 
 of spruce and fir and red pine came down to the 
 water on both sides. Here and there a fang of 
 black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above 
 the dark current. A jay screamed in the woods. 
 A belated snipe skimmed across their bows. An 
 eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, 
 and swooped down and away. 
 
 They must have ascended the stream a matter of 
 two miles and hard pulling it was when 
 Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood 
 smoke beyond a wooded bend. 
 
 " Cooking-fire there ! " he exclaimed. " Maybe 
 get something to eat ? Maybe get killed ? " 
 
 He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was 
 devoid of charm. 
 
 " We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. 
 " Put your weight into the stroke, lads and, 
 Tom, keep your match handy." 
 
 At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers 
 turned on the thwarts and peered over their shoul- 
 ders, and Kingsw'ell uttered a low cry of delight. 
 Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level 
 and open, and along its edge were beached three 
 skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a little settle-
 
 An Unchartered Plantation 79 
 
 ment of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the 
 chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke 
 rose to the clearer azure above. In front of this 
 civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small high-pooped 
 vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. 
 She swung like a dead body in the brown current. 
 
 Tom Bent swore softly and with grave delibera- 
 tion. " Damn my eyes," he murmured. " Ay, sir, 
 dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a reg- 
 gler, complete plantation ! Blast my eyes ! " 
 
 " A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked 
 Clotworthy, joyously. " An' real chimleys, too ! 
 Well, that do look homely, for certain." 
 
 At that moment three men, armed with muskets, 
 ran from the gateway of the enclosure and stood 
 uncertain half-way between the palisade and the 
 river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff 
 bows of the little Pelican. He stated the nation- 
 ality, the names, and degrees of himself and the 
 other of the little company, and the manner of their 
 misfortune, even while the boat was covering the 
 short distance to the shore. 
 
 The settlers laid aside their weapons, and re- 
 ceived Master Kingswell and his men with every 
 show of cordiality and good faith. They were 
 strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad 
 foreheads, steady eyes, and herculean shoulders.
 
 8o Brothers of Peril 
 
 They doffed their skin caps to the gentleman adven- 
 turer. 
 
 " Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come 
 ashore here two year and two months ago come 
 to-morrow," said one of the three. " Yes, it be 
 just two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, 
 that we dropped anchor off the mouth of this river," 
 he added, turning to his companions. They agreed 
 silently. Their eyes and attention were fully ab- 
 sorbed by Master Kingswell's imposing, though 
 sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced coat. 
 Another settler joined the group, and welcomed 
 the voyagers with sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed 
 in finery and a sword, approached and halted near 
 by. 
 
 " These," said the spokesman, " be Donnellys 
 father and son." With a casual tip of the thumb, 
 he indicated two rugged members of the company. 
 He turned to a handsome young giant beside him 
 and smote him affectionately on the shoulder. 
 " This here be my boy John John Trigget," he 
 said, " an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'An- 
 tons." He bowed, with ungracious deference, to 
 the dark, lean, fashionably dressed individual who 
 stood a few paces away. " An' my name be Will- 
 iam Trigget, master mariner," he concluded. 
 
 Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and
 
 An Unchartered Plantation 8 1 
 
 again shook hands with the elder Trigget. Then 
 he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few 
 courteous words in so low a voice that his men 
 caught nothing of them. Each gentleman laid his 
 left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each 
 bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell 
 forward about his face. D'Antons' locks were 
 raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. Young 
 Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as 
 a woman's. Both were of goodly proportions and 
 gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was the 
 taller and thinner of the two. 
 
 D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, 
 and, motioning to the others to follow, started 
 toward the stockade. William Trigget immediately 
 strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's 
 other hand, as if determined to assert his rights 
 as a leader of the mixed company. Ouenwa and 
 the seamen of the Pelican, and the Donnellys and 
 young Trigget, followed close on the heels of their 
 superiors. 
 
 " And who may ye be, lad? " inquired John Trig- 
 get of Ouenwa, as they crossed the level of frost- 
 seared grass. 
 
 " I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, " and 
 Master Kingswell is my strong friend and pro- 
 tector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head
 
 82 Brothers of Peril 
 
 chief of this country. His enemies barking foxes 
 who name themselves wolves pulled him down 
 in the night-time." 
 
 The big settler nodded, and the others uttered 
 ejaculations of pity and interest. The story was 
 not news to them, however. 
 
 " Ay," said John Trigget, " Soft Hand were 
 pulled down in the night, sure enough. The Injuns 
 run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' 
 burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days 
 to the north, when the trouble began. I come home 
 without stoppin' to make any objections, an' the 
 skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They 
 rebels was for wipin' out everybody; an' they cap- 
 tured two French ships, an' did for the crews. 
 They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We 
 be safe till spring, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 " There be worse folks nor they tormentin' In- 
 juns around these here soundin's, an' ye can take 
 my word for that," growled the elder Donnelly, in 
 guarded tones. 
 
 "Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The 
 devil can cook his stew plenty quick enough. Us 
 won't bear a hand till the pot boils over." 
 
 Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. 
 His black eyes gleamed suspiciously.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX 
 
 INSIDE the stockade, posted unevenly around 
 three sides of a foot-worn square, were five build- 
 ings of rough logs. From a platform in the south- 
 east corner two small cannon presented their muz- 
 zles to the river. At the back of this platform, 
 on the southern side of the square, stood the Don- 
 nelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fif- 
 teen paces across the front. Against the western 
 palisade the Trigget cabin and Captain d'Antons' 
 habitation faced the square. On the north side 
 stood a fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. 
 In the centre of the yard bubbled a spring of clear 
 water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook sparkled 
 away from it, under the stockade and down to the 
 river. The well was flanked on both sides by a 
 couple of slim birches, now leafless under the white 
 November sun. 
 
 The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and 
 Skipper Trigget's wife and daughter both big, 
 
 83
 
 84 Brothers of Peril 
 
 comely women fed them with the best in the lit- 
 tle plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and 
 Ouenwa were taken to D^Antons' quarters. The 
 Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and took 
 blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their 
 couches. Also he produced a flask of priceless 
 brandy, from which he and Kingswell pledged a 
 couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The 
 toast was D'Antons' suggestion. 
 
 Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that 
 he had a matter of business to attend to, and left 
 his guests to their own devices. The house was 
 divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou 
 hides, which were hung from one of the low cross- 
 beams of the ceiling. At the end of each room 
 a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small 
 windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre 
 interior. Books in English, French, and Spanish, 
 a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a neatly ex- 
 ecuted drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a 
 table near one of the windows. Antlers of stags, 
 decorated quivers and bows, painted hides, and 
 glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the 
 hearth in the room in which Kingswell and his 
 young companion sat, hung a musket with a sil- 
 ver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and sev- 
 eral knives and daggers in beaded sheaths. On
 
 Gentry at Fort Beatrix 85 
 
 the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West Indian 
 shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the 
 same sure metal, and a heavy sword with a basket 
 hilt hung above D'Antons' bed. 
 
 Kingswell looked over the books on the table. 
 He found that one of them was a manual of arms, 
 written in the Spanish language; another a work 
 of navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty 
 thesis on the science and practice of surgery; and 
 the fourth was a volume as well-loved as familiar, 
 Master William Shakespeare's " Romeo and 
 Juliet." He took up this last, and, seating himself 
 with his shoulder to the window, was soon far 
 away from the failures and daily perils of the wil- 
 derness. The greedy, hard-bitted materialist Pres- 
 ent, with its quests of " fish," and fur, and gold, 
 was replaced by the magic All-Time of the play- 
 wright poet. 
 
 Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into 
 every nook and corner, and examining the shells, 
 the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on 
 the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire 
 to his hair, tried to solve the mystery of the chim- 
 ney for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a lodge- 
 ful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. 
 He looked frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of 
 finding him open to questions, but was always dis-
 
 86 Brothers of Peril 
 
 appointed. At last the thought occurred to him 
 that it would be a fine thing to get hold of the 
 great sword above the bed, and make cut, lunge, 
 and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how 
 to do on several occasions. So he climbed on to 
 the bed, and, in trying to clear the sword from 
 its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the floor. 
 Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm 
 across his body and his hand on his sword-hilt, 
 and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama sprawled 
 at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, 
 in tones of relief. " But you must not handle other 
 people's goods, lad," he added, kindly, " especially 
 a gentleman's arms and armour." 
 
 Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about 
 to step from D'Antons' couch to recover the head- 
 piece, when D'Antons himself entered the cabin. 
 Kingswell turned to him and explained the acci- 
 dent. 
 
 " My young friend is very sorry," he said, " and 
 would beg your pardon if he felt less embarrassed. 
 However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so 
 intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watch- 
 ing him. He is naturally of an investigating turn 
 of mind." 
 
 The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed 
 his white teeth. " It is nothing, nothing," he cried.
 
 Gentry at Fort Beatrix 87 
 
 " I beg you not to mention it again, or give it 
 another thought. The old pot has sustained many 
 a shrewder whack than a tumble on the floor. Ah, 
 it has turned blades of Damascus before now ! But 
 enough of this triviality! I have returned to re- 
 quest you to come with me to our governor. 
 Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him to you, 
 as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But 
 he will make his own apologies, Master Kingswell." 
 
 He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to 
 pass out before him. Kingswell went first. As 
 Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped 
 him sharply by the arm, and hissed, " Dog ! Cur ! " 
 in a voice so low, so sinister, that the boy gasped. 
 But in a breath the Frenchman was his affable 
 self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still 
 burning his ears, almost believed that he had been 
 the victim of some evil magic. Kingswell caught 
 nothing of the incident. 
 
 Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master 
 Kingswell was ushered into the governor's cabin, 
 and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The 
 young Englishman found himself in a dimly lit 
 apartment very similar to that which he had just 
 left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and 
 narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. 
 The Frenchman paused at his elbow. Two figures
 
 88 Brothers of Peril 
 
 advanced from the farther side of the room. He 
 ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace 
 at his command, for one of the figures was that 
 of a young woman in flashing raiment. The other 
 was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little 
 past middle age, with a worn face that somehow 
 retained its air of youthfulness despite its haggard 
 lines and faded skin. 
 
 " Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kings- 
 well," said the gentleman, extending his hand and 
 laughing softly. " This is indeed an unlooked-for 
 pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall 
 or was it at Beverly ? " 
 
 "Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, 
 in a voice of ill-concealed consternation and sur- 
 prise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of 
 half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at 
 the other with wide eyes. Then he caught the 
 waiting hand in a firm grip. 
 
 " Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly 
 that we last met," he said, evenly. He turned to 
 the girl, who stood beside her father with downcast 
 eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet 
 hastened to make her known to the visitor. 
 
 " My daughter Beatrix," he said. " A good girl, 
 who willingly and cheerfully shares her worthless 
 father's exile."
 
 Gentry at Fort Beatrix 89 
 
 Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely 
 hand, and Kingswell, bending low above it, intox- 
 icated by the sudden presence of beauty and a flood 
 of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim 
 fingers with a warmth that startled the lady and 
 brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' eyes. He 
 recovered himself in an instant. " To see you in 
 this wilderness amid these bleak surroundings ! " 
 he exclaimed, scarcely above a whisper. " I cannot 
 realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played 
 at racquets together in the court at Beverly." 
 
 The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of under- 
 standing in her dark, parti-coloured eyes. 
 
 " I remember," she said. " You have not 
 changed greatly, save in size." And at that she 
 laughed, with a note of embarrassment. 
 
 " But you have," replied Kingswell. " You were 
 not very beautiful as a little girl. To me you looked 
 much the same as my own sisters." 
 
 For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his 
 with merriment and questioning in their depths. 
 Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved un- 
 easily. 
 
 " Come, come," he said, " we must not stand 
 here all day, like geese on a village green. There 
 are seats by the fire." He led the way. " Captain, 
 if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some
 
 90 Brothers of Peril 
 
 of Master Kingswell's adventures," he added, turn- 
 ing to D'Antons. 
 
 " With pleasure," answered the captain. 
 
 " One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph 
 Westleigh. " I have a young friend a sort of 
 ward whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run 
 over to the men and amuse himself with them." 
 
 As he opened the door and spoke a few kind 
 w'ords to Ouenwa, there was a sneer on D'Antons' 
 lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. 
 It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all 
 she could do to restrain herself from slapping him 
 for hot blood and a fighting spirit dwelt in that 
 fair body. She wondered how she had once con- 
 sidered him attractive. She blushed crimson at 
 the thought. 
 
 Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool 
 between the governor of the little colony and the 
 maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa 
 was, and of the time the lad saved him from in- 
 jury by flooring old Trowley with his canoe paddle. 
 Then he briefly sketched the voyage of the Pelican, 
 and told something of his interests in the fishing 
 fleet and in the new land. 
 
 " And you found no indications of gold ? " que- 
 ried D'Antons. 
 
 " None," replied the voyager, " but some splen-
 
 Gentry at Fort Beatrix 91 
 
 did copper ore in great quantities, and one mine of 
 'fool's gold.'" 
 
 The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. 
 " There are other kinds of fool's gold than these iron 
 pyrites, I believe," he said, " and one finds it nearer 
 home than in this God-forsaken ah in this 
 wild country." 
 
 The others understood the reference, and even 
 the polished Frenchman looked into the fire and had 
 nothing to say. Kingswell studied the water- 
 bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced 
 piteously at her father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's 
 life had known much of fool's gold, and much of 
 many another folly, and something of that to which 
 his acquaintances in Somerset and, for that mat- 
 ter, in all England gave a stronger and less leni- 
 ent name. The baronet had lived hard ; but his story 
 comes later. 
 
 " I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," 
 said Kingswell, presently. " I did not know, even, 
 that you were interested in colonization and yet 
 you have been here a matter of two years, so Trig- 
 get tells me." 
 
 " Yes, and likely to die here unless I am un- 
 earthed," replied Sir Ralph, bitterly, and with a 
 meaning glance at Kingswell. " I put entire faith 
 in my friends," he added. " And they are all in
 
 92 Brothers of Peril 
 
 this little fort on Gray Goose River. My undoing 
 lies in their hands." 
 
 " Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but 
 stoutly, " I hope your trust has been extended to 
 me, yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any 
 matter of of silence or the like are our orders. 
 My fellows are true as steel. My friends are theirs. 
 The young Beothic would risk his life for you at 
 a word from me." 
 
 The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. 
 He laid a hand on the young man's knee and peered 
 into his face. 
 
 "Then you are a friend out and out?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 " To the death," said the other, huskily. 
 
 " And you have heard ? Of course you have 
 heard!" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It is not for me to say * God bless you ' to any 
 man," said Sir Ralph, " but it's good of you. I 
 feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. I 
 have forgotten my old trick of making pretty 
 speeches." 
 
 Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished 
 that D'Antons, with his polite, superior, inscrutable 
 smile, was a thousand miles out of sight of his 
 embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But
 
 Gentry at Fort Beatrix 93 
 
 she did not look at him. " God bless you my 
 fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice so 
 low that he alone caught the words. He had no 
 answer to make to that unexpected reward. For 
 a little they maintained a painful silence. It was 
 broken by the Frenchman. 
 
 " You understand, Master Kingswtell, that, for 
 certain reasons, it is advisable that the place of 
 Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from the 
 knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, 
 slowly and easily. 
 
 " I understand," replied Kings well, shortly. Cap- 
 tain d'Antons jarred on him, despite all his fault- 
 less and affable manners.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SETTING -IN OF WINTER 
 
 ABOUT mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's 
 advent into the settlement on Gray Goose River 
 Fort Beatrix it \Vas called the sky clouded, 
 the voice of the river thinned and saddened, and 
 snow began to fall. By Trigget's advice and 
 Trigget seemed to be the working head of the plan- 
 tation the pelts and gear of the Pelican were re- 
 moved to the storehouse. 
 
 " Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, how- 
 ever the idea affects your plans, for no more ships 
 will be sailing home this season ; and ye couldn't 
 make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper. 
 
 " We might work 'round to St. John's," replied 
 Kingswell. 
 
 Trigget shook his head. " This be the safer 
 place o' the two," he answered, " and your Honour's 
 company here will help keep Sir Ralph out o' his 
 black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. 
 There'll be work and to spare for your men, what 
 
 94
 
 The Setting-in of Winter 95 
 
 with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and boat- 
 buildin'." 
 
 So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove 
 the real setting-in of winter, and if no objections 
 were raised by any of the pioneers, he would share 
 the colony's fortunes until the following spring. 
 D'Antons expressed himself as charmed with the 
 decision ; but, for all that, Kingswell saw, by deeper 
 and finer signs than most people would credit him 
 with the ability to read, that his presence was really 
 far from agreeable to the French adventurer. 
 
 When night closed about the little settlement, 
 the snow was still falling, and ground and roofs 
 shone with bleak radiance through the veil of dark- 
 ness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, 
 and unstirred by any wind. They wove a curtain 
 of silence over the unprotesting wilderness. 
 
 Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the West- 
 leighs. But before the meal, and before Mistress 
 Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two 
 gentlemen had an hour of private conversation. 
 
 "This Captain d'Antons what of him?" in- 
 quired Kingswell. 
 
 " He is none of our choosing," replied the bar- 
 onet. " Several years ago, before I had quite given 
 up the old life and the old show, I met him in 
 London. He was reported rich. He had sailed
 
 96 Brothers of Peril 
 
 many voyages to the West Indies, and talked of 
 lands granted to him in New France. I had sold 
 Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She 
 was little more than a child, but her looks attracted 
 a deal of attention. She had nothing else, as all 
 the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, 
 and her dead mother's property gone, with Randon 
 Hall and Beverly ! Dear God, but here was a dower 
 for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song 
 or two, and three old men were for paying titles 
 and places for her little hand and then the end 
 came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, 
 lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cot- 
 tage and that, while my trusted friend Trigget pro- 
 visioned his little craft and got together all the 
 folk whom you see here, save D^Antons. After a 
 rough and tiring voyage of three weeks' duration, 
 and just when we were looking out for land, we 
 were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul 
 our wind. A boat-load of armed men left the 
 pirate yes, that's what she was, a damn pirate 
 and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the 
 stern-sheets of her, beside the mate. He had not 
 been as long at sea as we had, and he knew all 
 about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, 
 which he said was bound on a peaceful voyage of 
 discovery to the West Indies, and joined our ex-
 
 The Setting-in of Winter 97 
 
 pedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, 
 with his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at 
 the back of it. He has hung to us ever since; and 
 he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show 
 his hoof now and again, I'd like it better for 
 then we would all be on our guard." 
 
 " But why does he stay ? Why does he live in 
 this place when he might be reaping the harvests 
 common to such husbandmen ? " inquired Kings- 
 well. "Has he a stake in the colony?" 
 
 The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. 
 " The fellow has kept my secret, and shared our 
 rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended some 
 money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, 
 " for no other reason than that he is in love with 
 my daughter." 
 
 " He ! A buccaneer ! " exclaimed Kingswell, 
 warmly. 
 
 " Even so," answered the baronet. " There, on 
 the high seas, when he had us all in his clutch, 
 when he might have seized by force that for which 
 he now sues, he accepted my word of honour 
 mark you, he accepted what I had scarce the face 
 to offer that I would not withstand his suit, nor 
 allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so 
 long as he kept my hiding-place secret and behaved 
 like a gentleman."
 
 98 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " And Mistress Beatrix? " asked the young man, 
 softly. 
 
 " Ah, who can say? " responded the broken bar- 
 onet. " At one time I feared that he was appear- 
 ing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He 
 played his game cleverly at first, but now he is los- 
 ing patience. I would to God that he would lose 
 it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. 
 But no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word 
 from the girl, my sword would be out. Then things 
 would go hard with him, even though he should 
 kill me, for my men hate him." 
 
 " Why not pick a quarrel with him ? " asked the 
 headstrong Kingswell. 
 
 " You do not understand you cannot under- 
 stand how delicate a thing to keep is the word 
 of honour of a man who is branded as being with- 
 out honour," replied the other, sadly. 
 
 " And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said 
 Kingswell, " he would find his revenge in reporting 
 your whereabouts to the garrison at St. John's." 
 
 " He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, " and this 
 is not an easy place to escape from, even in summer. 
 We are hidden, up here, and not so much as a fish- 
 ing-ship has sighted us in the two years." 
 
 " I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigi- 
 lance if he set his mind to it," retorted Kingswell.
 
 The Setting-in of Winter 99 
 
 " Gad, but it maddens me to think of being billeted 
 under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip 
 me, but it's a monstrous sin that a lady should be 
 plagued, and a whole body of Englishmen menaced, 
 by a buccaneering adventurer." 
 
 " My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, " you 
 must curb your indignation, even as the rest of 
 us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. 
 I have been holding the game with it for over two 
 years. Who knows but that Time may shuffle the 
 pack before long?" 
 
 Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She 
 wore one of the gay gowns in truth somewhat 
 enlarged and remodelled by which her girlish 
 beauty had been abetted and set off in England. 
 There seemed a brightness and shimmer all about 
 her. The coils of her dark hair were bright. The 
 changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round 
 neck and dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even 
 the material of bodice and skirt were radiant in 
 the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. 
 To all appearances, her mood was as bright as her 
 beauty. Sir Ralph watched her with adoring eyes, 
 realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her gay 
 chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, 
 silent on the corner of the bench by the hearth,
 
 ioo Brothers of Peril 
 
 gazed at this vision of loveliness with wide eyes. 
 He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph 
 and D'Antons and even his glorious Kingswell were 
 men, even as Tom Bent, and the Triggets, and 
 Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was 
 a woman a woman, as were William Trigget's 
 wife and daughter, and Black Feather's squaw 
 no, he could not believe it ! He was even surprised 
 to note a resemblance to other females in the num- 
 ber of her hands and feet. She had, most assuredly, 
 two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. 
 But how different in quality, though similar in 
 number, were the members of this flashing young 
 divinity. 
 
 " I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders 
 of the world," mused the dazzled child of the wil- 
 derness, " and already, without crossing the great 
 salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. 
 Can it be that any more such beings exist? Has 
 even Master Kingswell ever before looked upon 
 such beauty and such raiment ? " 
 
 His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the 
 enchantress. To his amazement, the lady moved 
 from her father's side and seated herself on the 
 bench. 
 
 " You are so quiet," she said, " that I did not
 
 The Setting-in of Winter 101 
 
 notice you before. So you are Master Kingswell's 
 ward?" 
 
 Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her 
 silks brushed the lad's hand. He looked at the 
 finery uneasily, but did not answer her question. 
 
 " You told us he knew English," she said to 
 Kingswell. 
 
 " He does," replied the young man. Then, to 
 the boy : " Ouenwa, Mistress Westleigh wants to 
 know if you are my friend." 
 
 "Yes," said the lad. "Good friend." 
 
 " And my friend, too ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ouenwa. " You look so so 
 like he called the sky one morning." He pointed 
 at Master Kingswell. 
 
 "What was that?" she queried. 
 
 " What morning ? " asked Kingswell, leaning for- 
 ward and smiling. 
 
 " Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa. 
 
 Kingswell laughed. " You are right, lad," he 
 said. 
 
 " But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, 
 this is very provoking. No doubt the boy thinks 
 I look a fright," said Miss Westleigh. 
 
 " Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, " surely I see 
 Kate with the candles." 
 
 The girl could not deny it, for the table was
 
 IO2 Brothers of Peril 
 
 spread in the same room, a rough, square table 
 with a damask cloth, and laid out with a fair show 
 of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, 
 which had been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen 
 across the yard. 
 
 The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. 
 He had not eaten off china dishes for many months. 
 The food, though plain, w>as well cooked and well 
 served. The wines were as nectar to his eager 
 palate. And over it all was the magic of Mistress 
 Westleigh's presence potent magic enough to a 
 young gentleman who had almost forgotten the 
 looks and ways of the women of his own kind. 
 Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by 
 the gleam of silver and linen under the soft light 
 of the candles. He ate painfully and slowly, imi- 
 tating Kingswell. He looked often at the vivacious 
 hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed : " I remember. 
 Yes, it was lovely beautiful, what the chief said ! " 
 Kingswell laughed delightedly, and the baronet 
 joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked 
 puzzled for a moment, then confused, then, 
 with a little, indescribable cry of merriment, she 
 patted Ouenwa's shoulder. 
 
 " Charming lad ! " she exclaimed. " I have not re- 
 ceived so pretty a compliment for, oh, ever so long."
 
 The Setting-in of Winter 103 
 
 She looked across the table at Kingswell, feeling 
 his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and 
 darkened with thought, though his lips were still 
 smiling.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MEDITATION AND ACTION 
 
 FOR hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, 
 reviewing, in his restless brain, the incidents of that 
 crowded day. His couch was luxurious, compared 
 to the resting-places he had known since leaving 
 the Heart of the West; but, for all that, sleep 
 evaded him. From the other side of the hearth 
 Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his 
 alert ears. He saw the yellow light blink to dark- 
 ness above the curtain of skins, when D'Antons 
 extinguished his candle in the other apartment. 
 The red firelight rose and fell, dwindled and 
 flooded high. The core of it contracted and ex- 
 panded, and a straight log across the middle of 
 the glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like some- 
 thing alive like something stirring between sleep- 
 ing and waking, desiring sleep, yet afraid to for- 
 sake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the 
 hearth it suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and 
 
 starting in a deserted hall. " What is it waiting 
 
 104
 
 Meditation and Action 105 
 
 for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. 
 " What does it fear ? Mayhap the master and mis- 
 tress are late at a rout, and are people without con- 
 sideration for the feelings of their servants." 
 
 From such harmless imagery his mind slipped 
 to the less pleasant subject of Sir Ralph Westleigh. 
 He recalled what he had seen and heard of the days 
 of the baronet's glory of the great places near 
 Bristol, with their stables that were the envy of 
 dukes, and their routs that lured people wieary and 
 dangerous journeys of the famous Lady West- 
 leigh and her jewels of Sir Ralph's kindliness 
 to great and small alike. His own father, the mer- 
 chant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in 
 high esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and 
 later when a well-grown lad, had experienced the 
 hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the 
 time of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy 
 with the baronet's affairs. During Lady West- 
 leigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. After 
 her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, 
 and more of it in distant London, and even in Paris. 
 Stories went abroad of his heavy gaming and his 
 ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice 
 and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, 
 working on him physically to such an extent that 
 he looked a different person when the heat of the
 
 io6 Brothers of Peril 
 
 play was on him. Also it played the devil with 
 him morally and perhaps mentally. So things 
 took the turn and started down-hill. Then the 
 run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, 
 threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numer- 
 ous clever checks and parries to avoid disaster. 
 There was a season of hope after the sale of Ran- 
 don. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then 
 Beverly was impoverished to the last oak and the 
 last horse in the stud. The baronet took his daugh- 
 ter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few 
 merry months. Then a certain Scotch viscount 
 caught him playing as no gentleman, no matter how 
 dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman 
 made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. 
 That was the last known of Sir Ralph Westleigh 
 and his daughter by any one of the outside world 
 until the Pelican landed her voyagers before the 
 stockade of Fort Beatrix on Gray Goose River. 
 
 All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts 
 as he lay awake in Captain d'Antons' cabin and 
 watched the fire on the rough hearth fall lower and 
 lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born 
 and bred to such a different heritage, pained and 
 fretted him more keenly than a personal loss. The 
 discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience 
 were accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though
 
 Meditation and Action 107 
 
 that was absurd, as neither he nor his had helped 
 Westleigh in his descent', nor cried out against him 
 when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had 
 never, during those two years after their disappear- 
 ance, given them more than a passing thought 
 and they had been friends and neighbours. He 
 had experienced no pity for the young and beauti- 
 ful girl with whom he had played in the racquet 
 court at Beverly. Like the great world of which 
 he was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. 
 Two lives, more or less, were of no consequence 
 in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the reali- 
 zation of a great sin had come to him. Then, to 
 the anger against himself was added anger against 
 the world that had dragged Sir Ralph into this 
 oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into 
 exile. What had she done to be driven beyond 
 the bounds of civilization, her safety dependent on 
 the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there. was 
 the raw spot, sure enough! In the little space of 
 time between two risings of the sun, Kingswell 
 had met a man and marked him for an enemy. 
 Nursing a bitter, though somewhat muddled, re- 
 sentment, he at last fell asleep, guarded from storm 
 and frost by the roof of the very man who had 
 inspired his anger. 
 
 For the next few days matters went smoothly
 
 Io8 Brothers of Peril 
 
 at Fort Beatrix. It was evident to even the least 
 experienced 0f the settlers that the winter had come 
 to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the 
 frozen earth. The river was already hidden under 
 a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by the snow 
 that had mingled with the water while it was freez- 
 ing. The little settlement took up the routine of 
 the dreary months. Axes were sharpened at the 
 great stone in the well-house. The men donned 
 moccasins of deerskin. They tied ingenious rac- 
 quets, or snow-shoes, to their feet and tramped 
 into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud 
 of the axes jarred across the air, interrupted ever 
 and anon by the rending, splitting lament of some 
 falling tree. 
 
 Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's 
 orders, and he and Ouenwa spent much of their 
 time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with 
 the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled 
 and tireless woodsman, led them on many weary 
 marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the 
 caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from 
 ten to one hundred head, at the approach of win- 
 ter; but a few remained in the sheltered valleys. 
 Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the 
 habits of the deer, and had laid in a supply of 
 dried venison during the summer. However, when-
 
 Meditation and Action 109 
 
 ever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh 
 meat was enthusiastically received at the fort. 
 Hares and grouse were snared, as were foxes and 
 other small animals. A few wolves and one or two 
 wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked 
 safely away in their winter quarters, and the beav- 
 ers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, the 
 hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward 
 for their toil. But it was work that kept both their 
 brains and sinews employed, and so was of a deal 
 more worth than the bare value of the pelts and 
 dinners it supplied. 
 
 One day in early December, when Kingswell, 
 D'Antons, the younger Donnelly, and Ouenwa were 
 traversing a drifted expanse of " barren," march- 
 ing in single file and without undue noise, they 
 came upon another trail of racquet prints. They 
 halted. They regarded this unexpected evidence 
 of the proximity of their fellow man with mis- 
 givings for snow had fallen in abundance, and 
 therefore the trail was new. They glanced uneas- 
 ily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir 
 and mounds of snow-drifted rock with anxious 
 eyes. They strained their ears for some warning 
 sound or for the twanging of bowstrings. They 
 saw nothing. They heard nothing but the discon-
 
 no Brothers of Peril 
 
 solate chirping of a moose-bird in a thicket close 
 at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail. 
 
 " From the westward, and heading for the 
 river," he said. " Then they are not from the 
 village on Gandei Lake." 
 
 " Big number," remarked Ouenwa. " Ten, 
 twenty, thirty don't know how much ! Whole 
 camp, I think." 
 
 " Ay," agreed Donnelly, " they sure has packed 
 clear down through two falls o' snow. Ye could 
 trot a pony along the pat' they has made." 
 
 " Are you on friendly terms with the savages? " 
 inquired Kingswell of Captain d'Antons. The 
 Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his 
 lean shoulders. He was not one to speak uncon- 
 sidered words. 
 
 " Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people 
 from Gander Lake," he replied, presently. " That 
 is, we have traded with them a number of times, 
 and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and 
 through him with old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand 
 is dead now; and these fellows are evidently from 
 the West. Also, friendship means nothing where 
 these vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the 
 breath of life to them." 
 
 " Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. 
 " Panounia no good for friend. He is a mur-
 
 Meditation and Action 1 1 1 
 
 derer. He is a false chief. He make trade yes, 
 with war-arrows from the bushes and with knives 
 in the dark. In friendship his hand is under his 
 robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his knife. 
 Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch 
 at a fire." 
 
 D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. " There is 
 a time for all things," he said "a time for ora- 
 tory and another time for action. If you are 
 willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our 
 steps as swiftly and quietly as may be. It would 
 be wise to warn the fort that a band of the sly 
 devils is abroad." 
 
 Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker 
 and flushed darkly. Kingswell intimated his 
 willingness to return immediately to Fort Bea- 
 trix by a curt nod. It was in his heart to admin- 
 ister a kick to Captain Pierre d'Antons, though 
 just why the desire he could not say. They turned 
 in their tracks and started back along the twisting, 
 seven-mile trail. D'Antons led; and the pace he 
 set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was passed, 
 with no other sound save those of padding racquet 
 and toiling breath. In the hollows their shoulders 
 brushed the snow from the crowding spruce-fronds. 
 Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and 
 scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran.
 
 112 Brothers of Peril 
 
 At last, all but breathless from the prolonged 
 exertion, the hunters turned aside from the path 
 and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side of 
 a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. 
 They crossed the naked summit with painful cau- 
 tion, bending double, and taking every advantage 
 of the sheltering thickets. 
 
 " The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons 
 to Kingswell, as they peered furtively out between 
 the snow-weighted branches. " See ! And the sav- 
 ages are in cover along the river." It was quite 
 evident to Kingswell that the place had been at- 
 tacked, and was now in a state of siege. The plat- 
 form in the southeast corner of the stockade was 
 protected by shields composed of bundles of fire- 
 wood. Men whom he recognized as those who had 
 been working in the woods earlier in the day moved 
 about within the enclosure. The wide, snow-cov- 
 ered clearing that had been so spotless when he 
 had last seen it was trampled and stained here and 
 there by dark patches. Along the fringe of timber 
 that shut the river from the clearing, and extended 
 to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner of 
 the stockade, a Beothic warrior wt>uld frequently 
 show himself for a moment, hoot derisively, and 
 let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the watchers 
 on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William
 
 Meditation and Action 113 
 
 Trigget above the shield of the gun-platform. The 
 master mariner shaded his eyes with his hand and 
 seemed to be scanning the woods along the river 
 and then the timber in which his own comrades 
 were concealed. He lowered his hand and ducked 
 quickly and not a second too soon; for a flight 
 of arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few 
 stuck, quivering, into the pickets of the stockade, 
 and many fell within the fort. 
 
 Kingswell turned to D'Antons. " More of them 
 than we thought," he said. " There must have been 
 a hundred arrows in that volley." 
 
 Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. 
 He did not look at his companion, and his brow 
 was puckered in lines of thought. If the English- 
 man had been able to read the other's mind at that 
 moment, a deal of future trouble would have been 
 spared him. However, as Kingswell was but an 
 adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no su- 
 perhuman powers, he was content with the French- 
 man's nod, and returned his attentions to the fort. 
 
 Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above 
 which Trigget had so lately exposed his head, burst 
 a flash of yellow 1 flame, a spurt of white smoke, 
 and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. 
 A spruce-tree shook in the wood by the river, and 
 cries of fear and consternation rang across the
 
 114 Brothers of Peril 
 
 frosty air. A score of savages darted from their 
 cover and as quickly sped back again. Flight after 
 flight of arrows broke away and tested every inch 
 of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill 
 screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party 
 of Beothics emerged into the clearing and dashed 
 for the palisade. They drew their bows as they 
 ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, 
 with red feathers in his hair and his right arm 
 bandaged across his breast, Panounia shouted en- 
 couragement and led the charge. They were half- 
 way across the open when the second cannon spat 
 forth its message of hate. The ball passed low 
 over the advancing mass and plunged into the tim- 
 ber beyond. For a second or two, the attackers 
 wavered, a few turned back, then they continued 
 their valorous onset. They were already springing 
 at the palisade when the muskets crashed in their 
 faces from half a dozen loopholes. This volley was 
 followed immediately by another. The savages 
 dropped back from their futile leapings against the 
 fortification, hung on their heels for a moment, 
 clamorous and undecided, and then broke for cover. 
 They dragged their dead and wounded with them, 
 and left sanguinary trails on the snow. They were 
 within a few yards of the sheltering trees when one
 
 Meditation and Action 115 
 
 of the little cannon banged again. The ball cut 
 across the mass of crowded warriors like a string 
 through cheese. 
 
 " Now is our time ! " exclaimed Kingswell. 
 " Run for the gate, lads."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE 
 
 THE returning hunters were promptly admitted 
 to the fort. The little garrison welcomed them 
 joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the 
 moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they 
 usually ignored. The party had taken a hundred 
 chances with death in the crossing of the narrow 
 clearing. Arrows had followed them from the 
 fringe of wood along the river, like bees from an 
 overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been 
 scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from 
 his head, pierced through and through. A hail of 
 missiles had clattered against the gate as the good 
 timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and 
 chagrin, in which Ouenwa's name was repeated 
 many times, rang from the retreat of the defeated 
 warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. 
 Ouenwa's shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, 
 lifted in Beothic insults. 
 
 Sir Ralph himself was in command of the im- 
 116
 
 Signs of a Divided House 117 
 
 perilled fortress. The excitement had stirred him 
 out of his customary gloom. His eyes were bright, 
 and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword 
 was at his side, and he held a musket in his hand. 
 
 " That was their third attempt to get over the 
 stockade," he said to Kingswell and D'Antons. 
 " They are filled with the very devil to-day. But 
 I scarcely think that they will come back for more, 
 now that Trigget has got his growlers into work- 
 ing order." 
 
 "How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman. 
 
 " Why, about three score of them marched up 
 and said they wanted to come in and trade," re- 
 plied the baronet, " but, as they seemed to have 
 nothing to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget 
 warned them off. Then they went out on the river 
 and began chopping up the Red Rose and the Peli- 
 can. At that we let off a musket, and they retired 
 to cover, from which they soon emerged with rein- 
 forcements and tried to carry the place by weight 
 of numbers." 
 
 "Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that 
 they are yelling? " 
 
 " My name," replied Ouenwa. ." They are my 
 enemies." 
 
 " Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this 
 gentleman's battles for him," remarked D'Antons,
 
 Ii8 Brothers of Peril 
 
 with an exaggerated bow to the lad. " Perhaps 
 this is the explanation of the attack." 
 
 " I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. 
 " They are surprised at discovering him here. Also 
 they are surprised and displeased at seeing me 
 again. They have smelled our powder before, as 
 you have heard, I think." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," 
 replied the captain, smiling his thin, one-sided, Con- 
 tinental smile. 
 
 The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He 
 turned on his heel without any further words. 
 Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence 
 he was bound for something to eat. 
 
 Panounia and his braves retreated across the 
 frozen river, and did not show themselves again 
 that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the 
 improvised gun-shields were repaired and strength- 
 ened, and the guns were again got ready for action. 
 In place of round shot, William Trigget charged 
 them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead. 
 
 " When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short 
 time, cut a wide swath," he remarked to Tom Bent. 
 
 " Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turn- 
 ing a hawk-like eye on the dark edges of the for- 
 est. " Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil 
 make the hay. It be mun's own crop."
 
 Signs of a Divided House 119 
 
 At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Bea- 
 trix was looking from the doorway of her father's 
 cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, sob- 
 bing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. 
 All the bitterness and insecurity of her position 
 had come to her with overmastering force. The 
 sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, 
 bedraggled hair, as he leaned on his musket and 
 talked with her father and the young Englishman, 
 had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed 
 confusedly, half her thoughts with the petitions 
 which she made to her God, and half with the des- 
 perate state of her affairs and the features and atti- 
 tude of the buccaneer. 
 
 She was disturbed by some one entering the 
 outer room. She recognized the footsteps as those 
 of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed 
 her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with 
 skilful fingers, and opened the door of her chamber. 
 The baronet looked up at the sound. 
 
 " Ah, lass," he said, " we've driven the rascals 
 off. They have crossed the river." 
 
 With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the 
 room. 
 
 " I do not fear the savages," she cried. " Oh, 
 I do think their knives and arrows would be wel- 
 come."
 
 I2O Brothers of Peril 
 
 " Poor child ! poor little lass ! " he said, pausing 
 beside her and kissing her tenderly. " You have 
 been weeping," he added, concernedly. " But cour- 
 age, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long 
 months to come. His fangs are as good as filed, 
 shut off here and surrounded by the snow and the 
 savages." 
 
 Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had 
 dimmed the finer conception of his promise to 
 D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and 
 sighed. 
 
 She laid her face against his coat and held tight 
 to his sleeves. 
 
 " I hate him," she whispered. " Oh, my father, 
 I hate him for my own sake as much as I fear 
 him for yours. His every covert glance, his every 
 open attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, 
 out of fear, I must smile and simper, and play the 
 hypocrite." 
 
 " No by God ! " exclaimed Westleigh, trem- 
 bling with emotion. Then, more quietly, " Beatrix, 
 I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is 
 hateful to me. I despise him. How such a crea- 
 tion of the devil's can love you so unswervingly 
 is more than I can fathom. I would rather see 
 you dead than married to him. There I have 
 broken my word again ! Let me go."
 
 Signs of a Divided House 121 
 
 He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught 
 up his hat and cloak, and left the cabin. He crossed 
 over to the well-house, where some of the men were 
 grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly 
 in their simple talk of work, and battle, and ad- 
 venture. Their honest faces and homely language 
 drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from 
 him. Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the 
 group about the complaining grindstone. 
 
 " Come," said Sir Ralph, " and look at the can- 
 non." 
 
 He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa 
 followed them. All three ascended the little plat- 
 form on which the guns were mounted, by way 
 of a short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were 
 snugly covered with tarpaulins that could be 
 snatched off in a turn of the hand. 
 
 " A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked 
 the baronet. " Ay, he is true as steel." 
 
 He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one 
 of the little cannon. " I would trust him, yea, and 
 his good fellows, with anything I possess," he said, 
 " as readily as I trust these growlers to his care." 
 
 Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the 
 wooded bluff that cut into the white valley and 
 hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the 
 river. From beyond the point, moving slowly and
 
 122 Brothers of Peril 
 
 unsteadily, appeared a solitary human figure. Its 
 course lay well out on the level floor of the stream, 
 and the forest growth along the shore did not con- 
 ceal it from the watchers. It approached uncer- 
 tainly, as if without a definite goal, and, when 
 within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered 
 and fell prone. 
 
 " What the devil does it mean ? " cried Sir Ralph. 
 
 Kingswell shook his head, and questioned 
 Ouenwa. The lad continued to gaze out across the 
 open. The sun was low over the western hills, and 
 its light was red on the snow. 
 
 " Hurt," he said, presently. " Maybe starved. 
 He is not of Panounia's band." 
 
 " How do you know that, lad ? " asked the baro- 
 net. 
 
 " I know," replied the boy. " He is a hunter. 
 He is not of the war-party. He is from the salt 
 water." 
 
 " He is usually right when he maintains that a 
 thing is so, without being able to give a reason 
 for it," said Kingswell, quietly. " And, if he is, 
 it seems a pity to let the man die out there under 
 our very eyes." 
 
 " God knows I do not want any one to suffer," 
 said the baronet, " but may it not be a trick of this 
 Panounia's, or whatever you call him?"
 
 Signs of a Divided House 123 
 
 " No trick," replied Ouenwa ; and, without so 
 much as " by your leave," he vaulted over the 
 breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the 
 snow outside the stockade. Without a moment's 
 hesitation, Kingswell followed. Together they 
 started toward the still figure out on the river, at 
 a brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir 
 Ralph recovered from his astonishment. He quickly 
 descended to the square, and, without attracting any 
 attention, informed William Trigget of what had 
 happened. Trigget and his son immediately 
 ascended to the guns and drew off their tarpaulins. 
 " We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. 
 They saw their reckless comrades bend over the 
 prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell lifted the ap- 
 parently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. 
 Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually 
 over his shoulder. The elder Trigget swore a great 
 oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a leathern palm. 
 
 " Them's well-plucked uns," he added. 
 
 The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. 
 They were too intent on the approach of the res- 
 cuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook 
 along the woods on the farther shore. But the 
 enemy made no sign ; and Kingswell, Ouenwa, and 
 the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in 
 safety. The stranger proved to be none other than
 
 124 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Black Feather, the stalwart and kindly brave who 
 had built his lodge beside the old arrow-maker's, 
 above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. 
 He was carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with 
 French brandy until he opened his eyes. He looked 
 about him blankly for a second or two, and then 
 his lids fluttered down again. He had not recog- 
 nized either Kingswell or Ouenwa. 
 
 " Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame 
 Trigget. " Whatever has mun been a-doin' now, 
 to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, 
 too, though he be a heathen, without a manner o' 
 doubt." 
 
 " Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but 
 get some of your good venison broth inside of him," 
 said Master Kingswell. " That's a treatment that 
 would surely convert any number of heathen." 
 
 While they were clustered about Black Feather's 
 couch, D'Antons entered. He peered over Dame 
 Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably 
 surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beo- 
 thic the centre of attraction. 
 
 "What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a 
 comedy? " 
 
 His tone was sour, and too bantering for the 
 occasion. 
 
 The baronet turned on him with an expression
 
 Signs of a Divided House 125 
 
 of mouth and eye that did not pass unnoticed by 
 the little group. 
 
 " Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, 
 coldly; " and we hope it will not prove a tragedy."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A TRICK OF PLAY - ACTING 
 
 MEALS were not served in Captain d'Antons' 
 cabin. The little settlement possessed but one serv- 
 ant among all its workers, and that one was Mag- 
 gie Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The 
 care of Sir Ralph's establishment was all she could 
 attend to. So the men who had no women-folk 
 of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame 
 Trig-get and her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the 
 Donnelly women. Kingswell and D'Antons took 
 their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were 
 served by themselves, with every mark of respect. 
 Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and Clotworthy 
 shared the Donnellys' board. 
 
 A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kings- 
 well and D'Antons sat opposite one another at a 
 small table near the hearth of the Triggets' living- 
 room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French 
 wine stood between them. D'Antons took up the 
 
 bottle, and made as if to fill the other's glass. 
 
 126
 
 A Trick of Play- Acting 127 
 
 " One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand. 
 
 The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set 
 down the vintage. The Englishman leaned for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a 
 whisper, " a remark that you made to-day seemed 
 to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your 
 remark was in reference to the brushes between the 
 Pelican and a party of natives during our cruise 
 from the North. Before I take wine with you to- 
 night, I want you to either withdraw or explain 
 your implication." 
 
 While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed 
 and calmed again. Now his dark face wore an 
 even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear 
 now of the expression of cynicism which so often 
 marred them, held the Englishman's without any 
 sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand 
 returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered 
 there. Lord, but the drama lost an exceptionally 
 fine interpreter when the high seas claimed Pierre 
 d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled 
 or was it the wavering of the candle-light? 
 
 " My friend," he said, softly, " how unfortunate 
 am I in my stupidity in my blundering use of 
 the English language. Whatever my words were, 
 when I spoke of having already heard of your
 
 128 Brothers of Peril 
 
 fights with the savages, my meaning was such that 
 no one would take exception to. Did I use the word 
 heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what 
 I meant. An Englishman would have made use of 
 a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have 
 refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I 
 am unfortunate in my heritage of French and Span- 
 ish blood the blood that is outspoken both for 
 praise and blame." 
 
 Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflict- 
 ing 1 emotions. His heart told him the man was 
 lying. His eyes assured him that he had been 
 grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the 
 remark concerning the skirmishes with the Beothics, 
 but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. His 
 blood surged to his head, and whispered that he 
 was a young fool to be hoodwinked so easily. His 
 brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity for 
 the handsome adventurer for the love-struck buc- 
 caneer went through him. But it faded at re- 
 membrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the 
 fellow was playing with him. 
 
 "Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, 
 with a smile of infinite sweetness and shy persua- 
 sion. 
 
 With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman 
 pushed forward his glass, and the red wine swam
 
 A Trick of Play-Acting 129 
 
 to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly 
 cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. 
 He had not the courage to meet the Frenchman's 
 look when they raised their glasses and clinked them 
 across the table. Lord, what a calf he was! 
 
 Had he no will of his own? Did he possess 
 neither knowledge of men nor mother wit? Ah, 
 but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed 
 face over his plate of stew. 
 
 When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned 
 to Black Feather's couch, and D'Antons went over 
 to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had 
 recovered consciousness and swallowed some of 
 Dame Trigget's broth; also, he had recognized 
 Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in 
 his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak 
 to disclose anything of what had happened in Wig- 
 wam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. He 
 lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his 
 quick, bright eyes, which moved restlessly in ques- 
 tioning scrutiny of the strange women and bearded 
 men 'who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one 
 of the transparent hands and smiled assuringly. 
 
 For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man 
 he had rescued so courageously from death by star- 
 vation. Then, feeling the heat of the room and 
 the confusion of his thoughts too much to enter-
 
 130 Brothers of Peril 
 
 tain calmly, he went out into the cold and darkness 
 and paced up and down. All unknowing, he kicked 
 the snow viciously every step. He was still in a 
 perturbed state of mind and temper when William 
 Trigget approached him through the gloom and 
 touched his elbow. 
 
 " Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing 
 close, " but w'hat of that Injun in there ? Be he 
 really sick, or be he playing a game ? " 
 
 " He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not 
 playing a game," replied Kingswell. " But why 
 do you ask? The fellow is a friend of Ouenwa's, 
 and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors." 
 
 " Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," 
 said Trigget, " an' has shammed sick just to get 
 carried inside the fort. There be something goin' 
 on outside, for certain." 
 
 "What?" asked the other. 
 
 Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while 
 standing under the gun-platform, by a sound of 
 scrambling outside the stockade. He had crawled 
 noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breast- 
 works about the guns. He had been able to distin- 
 guish something darker than the surrounding dark- 
 ness crouched against the palisade under him. The 
 thing had moved cautiously. He had detached a 
 feggx>t from one of the bundles beside him, for lack
 
 A Trick of Play- Acting 131 
 
 of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the 
 black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and 
 the thing had vanished in the night. 
 
 " It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded 
 Trigget. 
 
 Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the 
 face of this menace from the hidden enemy. 
 
 " The guards should be doubled," he said. " But 
 come, we must let Sir Ralph know of it." 
 
 They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin 
 and knocked on the door. Maggie Stone admitted 
 them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and Mis- 
 tress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud 
 to her father by the light of one poor candle. But 
 the great fire on the hearth had the place fairly 
 illuminated. 
 
 William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad 
 weather, cool in any risk of land or sea, was too 
 abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his story. 
 So Master Kingswell told it for him. 
 
 " The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph. 
 
 " They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, 
 breaking the spell of the bright eyes that surveyed 
 him. 
 
 " That is well," answered the baronet. " There 
 is nothing else to be done, at least until morning, 
 but sleep light and keep your muskets handy."
 
 132 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Kingswell and the master mariner returned to 
 the darkness without. 
 
 " I will stake my word," said Kingswell, " that 
 the place is surrounded by the devils even now, and 
 that they will try again to get a man over the wall 
 to unbar the gates."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE HIDDEN MENACE 
 
 NEITHER Kingswell nor Trigget found time for 
 sleep that night. D'Antons also kept awake, though 
 he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His candle 
 burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a rest- 
 less night beside Black Feather's couch. From ten 
 o'clock until two Tom Bent, John Trigget, and the 
 younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on 
 their hips and half-pikes in their hands for a 
 musket would have proved but an unsatisfactory 
 weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the 
 dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, 
 another at the gate, and a third on the roof of 
 the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget 
 moved continually from one point to another. At 
 two o'clock the elder Donnelly, Clotworthy, and 
 Harding relieved their companions. But the two 
 officers remained at their self-imposed duty. 
 
 At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. 
 Kingswell, who had been pacing the length of the
 
 134 Brothers of Peril 
 
 riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed with 
 relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' 
 cabin, when William Trigget approached him at 
 a run. The master mariner's face was ghastly 
 above his bushy whiskers. 
 
 " Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily. 
 
 Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and 
 up to the roof, by way of a rough ladder that leaned 
 against the wall. There, on the outward slope of 
 the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, 
 sprawled the body of Peter Clotworthy. 
 
 " What ! Asleep ! " exclaimed Kingswell, peer- 
 ing close. The light was not strong enough to dis- 
 close the features of the recumbent sentinel. 
 
 " Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied 
 Trigget, " with no chance o' wakin' this side o' the 
 Judgment-Seat." 
 
 " Dead ? " cried the other, sinking to his knees 
 beside the body. He pressed his hand against the 
 mariner's side, held it there for a moment, and 
 withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward 
 the growing illumination of the east, staring at it 
 with wide eyes. " Blood," he murmured. " Stabbed 
 without a squeal without a whimper, by 
 Heaven ! " Then he ripped out an oath, and fol- 
 lowed it close with a prayer for his dead comrade's 
 soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard Kings-
 
 The Hidden Menace 135 
 
 well had a hot and ready tongue and a temper 
 to suit, when occasion offered. 
 
 The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on 
 the roof of the storehouse for some time. The light 
 strengthened and spread on their right, and, at last, 
 gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing 
 and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow 
 below them, which was otherwise unmarked, they 
 saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined feet. 
 The marks did not lead to or from the near cover 
 of the woods, but to the south, around the fort. 
 The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's mur- 
 derer had approached close tinder the stockade, and, 
 after his silent deed of violence, had jumped a dis- 
 tance of about twenty feet, from the roof of the 
 store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, 
 evidently from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, 
 smirched the snow where it was broken by his fall. 
 From there the steps returned by the same course, 
 but at a distance of about ten paces from the 
 stockade. 
 
 Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to 
 the colourless, distorted features of the dead sea- 
 man. Then his gaze met Trigget's deep-set eyes. 
 He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard 
 line, as if the frost had stiffened them. 
 
 " Poor Gptworthy," he murmured, and swal-.
 
 136 Brothers of Peril 
 
 lowed as if his throat were dry. " Poor devil, 
 knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, 
 he was clubbed first and then knifed felled and 
 bled like an ox in a shambles! Ten nights of this 
 hellishness will account for the whole garrison." 
 
 With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that 
 there' d be no ten nights of it. 
 
 They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, 
 been animated by the fearless spirit of Richard 
 Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and car- 
 ried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other 
 inmates of the little settlement were deeply affected 
 by the sight, and by Kingswell's story. The 
 younger men were for setting out immediately and 
 driving the Beothics from the woods on the far 
 side of the river. But the wiser heads prevailed 
 against such recklessness, arguing that the only 
 thing to be done was to remain constantly on guard. 
 The women wept. Ouenwa, trembling with sorrow 
 and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver 
 beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, 
 in English and Beothic, that he would avenge this 
 murder as he intended to avenge the murders of 
 his father and his grandfather. 
 
 The day passed without any sign of the hidden 
 enemy. Kingswell slept until noon. By evening 
 .Black Feather had recovered enough strength to
 
 The Hidden Menace 137 
 
 enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His 
 lodge, and that of Montaw, the arrow-maker, had 
 been torn down by the followers of Panounia shortly 
 after the departure of the Pelican from Wigwam 
 Harbour. Montaw had died fighting. Black 
 Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and 
 carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife 
 and children also had been captured and maltreated. 
 The ships in the bay had looked on at the unequal 
 struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. 
 Upon reaching the village on the river, Black 
 Feather had been driven to the meanest work 
 work unbecoming a warrior of his standing and 
 his wife and children had been led farther up-stream, 
 very likely to Wind Lake. Black Feather had seen 
 the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top 
 of a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He 
 had bided his time. At last he had gnawed the 
 thongs with which his tormentors bound him at 
 night, and had safely made his escape. He could 
 not say how long ago that was. Days and nights 
 had become strangely mixed in his desperate mind. 
 He had lived on such birds and hares as he had 
 been able to kill with sticks. Always he had kept 
 up his journey, shaping his course toward the salt 
 water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who 
 might have remained loyal to the murdered chief.
 
 138 Brothers of Peril 
 
 But he had met with nobody in all that desolate 
 journey, until, only the day before, he had recovered 
 consciousness in Fort Beatrix. 
 
 That night, John Trigget was attacked at his 
 post on the gun-platform, and in the struggle that 
 ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So sud- 
 den and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark 
 that he fought in silence, only remembering to shout 
 for help after the savage had squirmed from his 
 embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by 
 Sir Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his 
 place. But daylight arrived without any further 
 demonstration on the part of the enemy. 
 
 By this time the little garrison was bitten by a 
 restlessness that would not be denied. Even Kings- 
 well and William Trigget were for making some 
 sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the 
 river. D'Antons, contrary to his habit, had noth- 
 ing to say either for or against an aggressive move- 
 ment. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously 
 awaiting development; but, seeing the spirit of the 
 men, he agreed that five of the garrison should 
 sally forth in search of the enemy. 
 
 " Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," con- 
 cluded the baronet, wearily, " though what the devil 
 you'll do with them then is more than I can ven- 
 ture to predict."
 
 The Hidden Menace 139 
 
 Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the 
 cannon was taken from the platform and mounted 
 on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in turn, 
 was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fas- 
 tened rammers and mops and bags of powder and 
 shot. The daring party was made up of Master 
 Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, 
 and the younger Donnelly. D'Antons did not vol- 
 unteer his services on the expedition. The men 
 were all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and 
 all save Ouenwa had fastened steel breastplates 
 under their coats. As they marched away, Mistress 
 Westleigh waved them " Godspeed " with a scarf 
 of Spanish lace, from where she stood in the open 
 gate between her father and Captain d'Antons. 
 
 The little party moved down the bank and across 
 the river slowly and with commendable caution. 
 Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a 
 sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Don- 
 nelly and Tom Bent followed about ten paces be- 
 hind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along on 
 the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which 
 he feared far worse than he did any number of 
 Beothic warriors. The river was crossed without 
 accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's re- 
 treat.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CLOVEN HOOF 
 
 SIR RALPH WESTLEIGH was in the storehouse, 
 Maggie Stone was gossiping with Dame Trigget, 
 and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain 
 d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered 
 without waiting for a summons. He was dressed 
 in his bravest suit and finest boots. After closing 
 the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at 
 the farther end of the room. She instantly stood 
 up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, but no 
 warmth whatever. 
 
 " My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she 
 said. 
 
 He smiled and approached her with every show 
 of deference. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, " I have not 
 come to see the good baronet. I have come to learn 
 my fate from the dearest lips in the world." 
 
 The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emo- 
 tions that almost forced the tears past her lids. 
 
 140
 
 The Cloven Hoof 141 
 
 Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought that 
 she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. 
 She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her 
 throat, and accomplished nothing but a dry sob. 
 
 D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope 
 which had been somewhat clouded of late flashed 
 clear again. " Beatrix," he cried, softly, " I have 
 wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last 
 beyond peradventure ? Do not deny it, my sweet." 
 He caught her to him, and attempted to kiss her 
 bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite unex- 
 pected display of strength, she wrenched herself 
 from his embrace. She did not try to leave the 
 room. She did not call for help. She faced him, 
 with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched 
 hands. 
 
 The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, show- 
 ing his chagrin and amazement like any country 
 clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth 
 took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sin- 
 ister shadows. He looked the girl coolly up and 
 down. He laughed softly. 
 
 " This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Bea- 
 trix," he said. 
 
 " I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trem- 
 bling. " Your presence is distasteful to me." 
 
 " A sudden turn," said he. " Now a month ago,
 
 142 Brothers of Peril 
 
 or even a week ago, you seemed of a different mind. 
 As for the days of our first meeting in merry Lon- 
 don ah, then your lips were not so unattainable." 
 
 " I hate you," she murmured. " I despise you. 
 I loath you. You taint the arr for me. Dog, to 
 make a boast of having filched a kiss from a light- 
 hearted girl who did not know you for the com- 
 mon fellow that you are." 
 
 " Beatrix," cried the man, " this is no stage com- 
 edy. We are not players. I have asked you, too 
 many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. 
 You know that your father's life is in my hands. 
 Tell me now, will you promise to marry me, or will 
 you let your father go to the gallows in the spring, 
 and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever 
 your choice, my beauty, you will accompany me 
 to New Spain next summer. It is for you to say 
 whether you go as my wife or my mistress." 
 
 At that the girl's face went white as paper. But 
 her eyes were steady. 
 
 D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half- 
 ashamed, nay, more than that, of his words. 
 
 " It would be hard to say," she replied, very 
 softly, " which would be the most dishonourable 
 position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. 
 That of your wife, I think, monsieur for, as your 
 wife, she would be known by your name."
 
 The Cloven Hoof 143 
 
 His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken 
 insult. He caught her roughly by the wrists. 
 
 " Nay," she said, " you must be more gentle. 
 You seem to forget that you are not sacking a 
 defenceless towti. Also, you forget that you have 
 not a friend or a follower in this wilderness, and 
 that any man or woman in the fort would shoot 
 you down like a dog at a word from me." 
 
 For a little while they eyed each other steadily 
 enough her face still beautiful despite the ban- 
 tering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the loathing 
 in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, 
 with a muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her 
 tender flesh, pressing with all his strength. 
 
 " Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, " you think 
 yourself strong enough to flout Pierre d'Antons, do 
 you? Strong enough to spurn the protection of 
 a soldier and a gentleman ! Cry now for your girl- 
 faced Kingswell for your golden-haired fellow 
 countryman." 
 
 By that even her lips were colourless, and her 
 eyes were wet. " There is no need," she said, 
 bravely, " for I hear my father at the door." 
 
 D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a back- 
 ward step. In doing so, his heel struck the leg of 
 a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang dis- 
 cordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as
 
 144 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Sir Ralph crossed the threshold. Before either of 
 the men had time to speak, Beatrix darted forward 
 and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face 
 with her open hand. Then, without a word of 
 either explanation or greeting to her father, she 
 passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of 
 the room, and entered her own chamber. 
 
 "What does this mean, captain?" inquired the 
 baronet, coldly. D'Antons, scarcely recovered from 
 the blow, strode toward him. 
 
 " What does it mean ? " he cried. " It means, 
 my fine old cock, that your neck will be pulled out 
 of joint when we get away from this God-for- 
 gotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have 
 you strung up to a yard-arm when you were safely 
 in my power? Stab me, but I've been too soft 
 and my reward is insults from the wench of an 
 exiled card-cheat and murderer." 
 
 His voice was raised almost to a scream. His 
 face quivered with passion. He thrust it within a 
 few inches of the baronet's. 
 
 " Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously. 
 
 " Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. " I cannot 
 abide being bawled at in my own house, especially 
 by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep 
 your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a 
 hurt. What's this! You'd presume?"
 
 The Cloven Hoof 145 
 
 They withdrew on the instant. The two swords 
 came clear in the same second of time. 
 
 " Gabier de potence," cried D'Antons. 
 
 " Canaille" replied the baronet, blandly. Evi- 
 dently the rasp of the steel had mended his temper. 
 He even smiled a little at his adoption of his ad- 
 versary's mother-tongue. 
 
 The men were excellently matched as swords- 
 men. But not more than half a dozen passes had 
 been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the 
 room, crying to them to put up their swords. 
 
 " Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on 
 D'Antons, " go back to your room, my daughter, 
 and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will 
 soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy." 
 
 The girl went softly back and closed the door, 
 in an effort to shut out the rasping and metallic 
 striking of the blades. She prayed, but for strength 
 to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's 
 soul. She was afraid desperately afraid. The 
 truth of her father's skill in French sword-play 
 had been kept from her. To her he was but a 
 courteous, middle-aged gentleman who needed her 
 care, and who had been maligned and robbed by 
 the world into which he had been born. He was 
 a good father. He had been a loving and consid-
 
 146 Brothers of Peril 
 
 erate husband. She knelt beside her bed and be- 
 seeched God to succour him in this desperate strait. 
 
 In the meantime the fight went on in the outer 
 room with more the air of a harmless bout for 
 practice than a duel to the death. It was alto- 
 gether a question of point and point, in the Con- 
 tinental manner, perfectly free from the swinging 
 attack and clanging defence of the English style. 
 The combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. 
 Neither seemed in any hurry. The thrusts and 
 lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were 
 delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant lei- 
 sure. 
 
 " I believe you have the advantage of me by 
 about three inches of steel," remarked the baronet, 
 diverting a lightning thrust from its intended 
 course. 
 
 " A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, 
 smiling grimly. 
 
 Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge 
 of a book of verses which Mistress Beatrix .had 
 left on the floor. For a second he was swerved 
 from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was 
 to feel the warm blood running down his breast 
 from a slight incision in his left shoulder. But 
 his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and 
 the Frenchman found himself more severely pressed
 
 The Cloven Hoof 147 
 
 than before, despite the advantage he possessed in 
 the superior length of his sword. The little wound 
 counted for nothing. 
 
 Just what the outcome of the fight would have 
 been, if an untimely interruption in the person of 
 Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is hard to say. 
 Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the 
 victory in the long run, or perhaps the baronet's 
 excellent composure. In skill they were nicely 
 matched, though the Englishman displayed supe- 
 riority enough to even the difference in the length 
 of the blades. But why take time for idle sur- 
 mises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, 
 at the open door, saw her beloved master engaged 
 in a desperate combat with a person whom she 
 despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden 
 stain of blood on her master's doublet. In her hand 
 she held a skillet which she had just borrowed 
 from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce 
 herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Cap- 
 tain d'Antons a resounding whack on the head 
 with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long sword 
 fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the 
 floor. With a low, guttural cry, the Frenchman 
 followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, at the feet 
 of the surprised and indignant baronet.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH 
 
 MASTER KINGSWELL and his party returned from 
 their daring reconnoitre early in the afternoon. 
 They had not met with the enemy, though they 
 had found the camp and torn down the temporary 
 lodges. After that they had followed the broad 
 trail of the retreat for several miles, and had dis- 
 charged the cannon twice into the inscrutable 
 woods. Their daring had been rewarded by the 
 capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked 
 salmon and dried venison. 
 
 Both Kingswell and William Trigget were un- 
 able to account for the fact that the savages had 
 not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In 
 reality they owed their bloodless victory to the 
 presence of the little cannon. That third and last 
 discharge of slugs, on the day of the big fight, 
 had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, 
 and inspired an hysterical terror in the hearts of 
 
 the rest. But for that, the hidden enemy would 
 
 148
 
 The Confidence of Youth 149 
 
 not have been content with playing a waiting game 
 and with the attempted killing of one man each 
 night; and neither would they have retired, so 
 undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. 
 But, despite their fear of the cannon, they had no 
 intention of giving up the siege of the fort. They 
 placed trust in the darkness of night and their own 
 cunning. 
 
 Kingswell and' the elder Trigget were drawn 
 aside by Sir Ralph. The baronet looked less care- 
 haunted than he had for years. 
 
 " D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he 
 whispered, " and behold, the heavens have not 
 fallen, nor even the poor defences of this planta- 
 tion." He smiled cheerfully. " The great captain 
 alone has come to grief," he added. " Maggie 
 Stone saved him from my hand by felling him her- 
 self with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically 
 angry at the time, but am glad now that I did not 
 have to kill the rogue." 
 
 " Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked 
 Trigget, coolly. 
 
 " I grant you that, my good William," replied 
 Sir Ralph, " but he is harmless as a new-born babe, 
 after all and we'll see that he remains so." 
 
 Then he told them the story of the duel, and of 
 what had led to it. Kingswell flushed and paled.
 
 150 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " God's mercy ! " he cried, " but I would I had 
 been in your boots, sir." 
 
 " You'd have died in them, more than likely," 
 replied the baronet, laying a hand on the other's 
 shoulder. " D'Antons has a rare knowledge of 
 swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with." 
 
 " Even so," replied Kingswell, " it would have 
 been it would have been a pleasure to die in 
 such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, 
 " But I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his 
 gimcrackery and side-stepping. I've seen such gen- 
 try hopping and poking for hours, when one good 
 cut from the shoulder would have ended their 
 tricks." 
 
 The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge 
 of sadness. " Ah, what a fine thing is the heart 
 of youth," he said, " and the confidence of youth. 
 I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my 
 dear boy, valour and confidence are not more than 
 half the battle, after all. The edge is a fine thing, 
 and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammer- 
 ing of the first sword; but the point becomes no 
 less deadly simply because one stout young Eng- 
 lishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were 
 not that I have won the distinction beside many 
 a less enviable one of being the best swordsman 
 in England, I could not have withstood D'Antons'
 
 The Confidence of Youth 151 
 
 play for long enough to make sure of the colour 
 of his eyes." 
 
 Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know 
 which way to turn his abashed countenance. Both 
 Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him. 
 
 " But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, 
 " that, if it came to a matter of cutlasses, neither 
 the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long 
 against either you or Trigget." 
 
 " It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, 
 staring over the baronet's shoulder at nothing in 
 particular, " but I haven't a doubt that even Maggie 
 Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a 
 match for me." 
 
 William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. 
 " We must ease the young gentleman's temper, sir," 
 he said to the baronet. " I have a pair of single- 
 sticks." 
 
 " Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his 
 hand under Kingswell's arm and led him into the 
 cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy 
 compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth 
 immediately felt better in his pride. 
 
 " Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir 
 Ralph whispered in his ear. " He is safe in his 
 own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not over- 
 tenderly, by Maggie Stone."
 
 152 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix 
 on the bench by the fire. He noticed that she had 
 been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the brighter 
 for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief 
 expedition from which he had just returned. He 
 told of the cluster of lodges, the cooking-fires still 
 burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and 
 not a human being in sight. 
 
 " And what if you had seen the savages ? " she 
 asked. " Surely, four Englishmen and a lad could 
 do nothing against such a host?" 
 
 " We would have fallen in the first flight of 
 arrows," replied Kingswell. 
 
 " Then why did you risk it ? " 
 
 The young man shook his head and laughed. 
 " Some one must take risks," he said, " else all 
 warfare would come to a standstill." 
 
 The girl was looking down at her hands, and 
 reflectively twisting a jewelled ring around and 
 around on one slim finger. " And I wish it would 
 with all my heart," she sighed. " Warfare and 
 bloodshed they are the devil's inventions, and 
 strike innocent and guilty alike." 
 
 " Nay," replied Kingswell, " there is more harm 
 done to the innocent in courts and fine assemblies, 
 and at the sheltered card-tables, than on all the 
 battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon,
 
 The Confidence of Youth 153 
 
 and, if he sometimes lets the good blood with the 
 bad, why, that's just a risk we must accept." 
 
 Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him 
 squarely. " You preach like a Puritan," she said, 
 " with your condemnation of courts and play. 
 You should give my father the benefit of some of 
 your wisdom). His friends have all been generous 
 with such help." 
 
 Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward min- 
 ute studied the toes of his moccasins. Presently 
 he looked up. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said. 
 
 Her glance softened. 
 
 " I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of 
 courts," he added. " I am ignorant of everything." 
 
 His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed 
 softly. 
 
 " Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. 
 " Nothing is so easily mended as ignorance." 
 
 He looked at her gravely. 
 
 " I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons 
 in French sword-play," he said. " Is there nothing 
 that you would teach me?" 
 
 " Embroidery," she replied, " and how to brew 
 a Madeira punch." 
 
 At that moment the baronet opened the door 
 and admitted William Trigget. The master mari-
 
 154 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket- 
 work guards under his arm. 
 
 " Does your education commence so soon ? " in- 
 quired Beatrix of Kingswell. 
 
 " Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of 
 his old confidence. With the lady's permission and 
 Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell 
 cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the 
 table. They removed their outer coats. Trigget 
 was the taller, as well as the heavier, of the two. 
 Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the 
 dry whacking of the sticks against one another, 
 varied occasionally by the muffled thud of wood 
 against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine display 
 of the English style slash, cut, and guard, with 
 never a side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes 
 of it, Trigget cried " enough," and stumbled out 
 of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. 
 His shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; 
 Kingswell was without a touch. 
 
 Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, 
 for that matter, concealed their astonishment at 
 the result of the bout. " And now, sir," said Kings- 
 well, " I should like a lesson in the other style." 
 
 The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless 
 blades with blunted points. After a few words 
 as to the manner of standing, they crossed the lithe
 
 The Confidence of Youth 155 
 
 weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from 
 his hand and sent bounding across the room. He 
 recovered it without a word and returned to the 
 combat. By this time the light was failing. After 
 about a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His 
 gray eyes danced, and he laughed gaily as he picked 
 up his weapon. 
 
 " I see the way of that trick," he said. 
 
 He returned to the one-sided engagement with, 
 if possible, more energy and eagerness than before. 
 Already he had the attitude and stamping manner 
 of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his de- 
 fence again and again without slipping through. 
 Three times he tried the circular, twisting stroke 
 with which he had disarmed the novice before with- 
 out success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he 
 put out fresh efforts, and forgot all about his de- 
 fence. The blades rasped, and rang, and whis- 
 pered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's 
 breast, at his throat, at his eyes; but it never 
 touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was about 
 to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because 
 of the gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the 
 insignificant but painful wound on the baronet's 
 shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, 
 pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir 
 Ralph dropped his foil to the floor.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS 
 
 CAPTAIN PIERRE D'ANTONS' injury kept him in- 
 doors for ten days. During that time he saw 
 nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and 
 Ouenwa. Kingswell could not help feeling sorry 
 for him, in spite of the enmity and distrust in his 
 heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came 
 by his cut head to the young Englishman. He 
 knew that the other knew and sometimes he won- 
 dered how much. He accepted such attentions at 
 Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make 
 to any invalid, with what seemed gratitude and 
 humility. But under the mask his blood was rag- 
 ing. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass 
 of water from the Englishman, it was as much 
 from the effort of restraining an outburst of hate 
 as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by 
 now, suspected the real state of the other's feel- 
 ings. 
 
 During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the 
 156
 
 Events and Reflections 157 
 
 Beothics made three night attacks on the fort. 
 Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstra- 
 tions of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his 
 death and young Trigget had received the cut on 
 his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was 
 an attack in force, made in that darkest hour just 
 before the first stirrings of dawn. By good for- 
 tune, both William Trigget and Kingswell were 
 dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. 
 They both ran to the gun-platform, and there found 
 Tom Bent desperately engaged with two savages, 
 who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoul- 
 ders of their fellows. The intruders were speedily 
 hurled backward, they and a portion of the breast- 
 works falling on the devoted heads below. At the 
 moment, Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the 
 ladder and handed a torch to her husband. In a 
 second the coverings were pulled from the guns. 
 The muzzles of the little weapons were declined 
 as far as they would go, and the fuses were ignited. 
 Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the 
 enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the 
 torch's illumination. Both William Trigget and 
 Tom Bent were hit, and fell to their knees. In 
 the same instant of time the guns belched their 
 flame and screaming missiles into the wavering 
 mass of savages. A yell of terror and pain, made
 
 158 Brothers of Peril 
 
 up of many individual cries, followed the reports 
 of the guns like an echo. 
 
 But along the opposite stockade, things were not 
 going so well for the settlers. About a dozen of 
 the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of the 
 storehouse, and from there had jumped into the 
 yard, driving Peter Harding before them. They 
 were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. 
 Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the 
 edges of the conflict. Matters were looking serious 
 for the defenders (who by that time were joined 
 by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Mag- 
 gie Stone) when the discharge of artillery across 
 the square turned the courage of the attackers to 
 water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them 
 were cut down while endeavouring to escape by 
 way of the ladder against the wall of the store- 
 house. The rest got away, but none of them un- 
 scathed. With that the fight ended, though the 
 defenders kept to their posts until broad daylight. 
 
 In the morning it was discovered that one of the 
 six warriors who remained within the fort was 
 still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to D'Antons' 
 cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were 
 not of a serious nature. Black Feather, who was 
 a convalescent by now, recognized a bitter enemy 
 in the disabled captive. He was for despatching
 
 Events and Reflections 159 
 
 him straightway, recalling the bitter days of his 
 slavery and the loss of wife and children. He 
 was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa re- 
 monstrated with him at some length. 
 
 The little garrison had suffered in the brief en- 
 gagement. William Trigget had halted three ar- 
 rows with his big body. Only one had reached the 
 flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and 
 hide; but that one had cut deep into the muscles 
 of his chest, and the others had bruised his ribs. 
 Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gap- 
 ing slash in the side of his neck. Young Peter 
 Harding was laid on his back with a cracked rib, 
 dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a 
 fair way to remain on the sick-list for some time 
 to come. 
 
 The dead Beothics were carried out and buried 
 in a shallow grave near the honest Clotworthy's 
 desolate resting-place. 
 
 It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, 
 that the enemy were still maintaining the siege, 
 and at even closer range than before. The con- 
 tinual sight of that evidence of their presence, and 
 the idleness due to confinement within a few hun- 
 dred yards of the stockade, began to tell on the 
 spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of dif- 
 ficulty to forget the wounded men in such restricted
 
 160 Brothers of Peril 
 
 quarters. Bandages and salves, gruels and plasters, 
 seemed to pervade every corner. Every one who 
 was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the 
 lack of fresh meat was beginning to be felt. Sir 
 Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just after 
 his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his 
 black moods. Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes 
 were losing something of their radiance, though 
 she carried herself bravely and cheerfully. 
 
 Master Kingswell, who had a knack with ban- 
 dages and such, found his time fully occupied. He 
 inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and 
 Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the 
 captured Beothic. His only recreation was a few 
 hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the 
 Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit 
 happened to be paid during the day; if in the 
 evening, they sometimes played chess, or, better still, 
 the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, 
 and the youth and the maiden bent their young 
 heads above the pieces of carved ivory. 
 
 Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kings- 
 well detected an aloofness toward him that had not 
 been noticeable during the first days of their ac- 
 quaintance. The thing was very fine so fine that 
 it was scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. 
 One of duller perception would have missed it alto-
 
 Events and Reflections 161 
 
 gather. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save 
 in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye 
 and the softer notes of the voice. But it worried 
 the young man. He felt that he had failed in some- 
 thing that she had set a standard for him, and 
 that he had not risen to it. With native shrewd- 
 ness, he suspected that she considered him crude 
 and conceited. He knew that she considered him 
 brave, and that she admired his courage; but he 
 was equally sure that his prowess with the single- 
 sticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexter- 
 ity with the rapier, did not tell in his favour in 
 her eyes. " Women are evidently as unreasonable 
 as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried 
 to acquire a modest demeanour. But the ability 
 to do so had not been born in him, and no matter 
 how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone 
 in his clear eyes and self-confidence was in the car- 
 riage of head and shoulders. 
 
 The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell 
 became more affectionate every day. He recog- 
 nized the sterling qualities in the youth, the hon- 
 esty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical 
 and mental gifts of quick eye and wrist and clear 
 brain. He derived no little comfort from his pres- 
 ence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired 
 son of the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter
 
 1 62 Brothers of Peril 
 
 had a second guardian. He knew that the Kings- 
 well blood, though not noble by the rating of the 
 College of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely 
 as any in England. In happier times he had known 
 and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity with 
 the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad- 
 minded merchant's heart as sound as his self-im- 
 ported wines. He remembered the wife, too, as 
 a person of distinction and kindliness. 
 
 For his own part, the baronet realized more 
 surely, with the passing of each narrow day, that 
 life offered no further allurement to him. The 
 slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance 
 and defeat of D'Antons was of no more lasting 
 a quality than the flavour of a vintage. The French- 
 man was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them ; 
 and in as fair a way as himself to leave his bones 
 in the wilderness. Yes, he felt a twinge of pity 
 for him! He could understand that, to an adven- 
 turer like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very 
 devil, worse, perhaps, than. the fever of the gam- 
 ing-table. But of course he felt no regret for 
 having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's 
 audacious suit. His regret if, indeed, he enter- 
 tained any concerning so recent an event in his 
 career was that he had not pricked the bucca- 
 neer's bubble of false power months before de-
 
 Events and Reflections 163 
 
 spite the promise he had made him. But as things 
 had turned out, as Time had dealt the cards, 
 to use his own words, the other's behaviour had 
 allowed him to strike without too flagrant a breach 
 of his word of honour. He was thankful for that.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 TWO OF A KIND 
 
 WHEN Pierre d'Antons was able to move about 
 again, he found himself shunned, without disguise, 
 by every one of the inmates of the fort save Ber- 
 nard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no 
 longer under orders to treat him with respect and 
 obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and turned 
 their backs when he addressed them. Of course, 
 the door of Sir Ralph's habitation was closed 
 against him. He spent almost all his time in his 
 own cabin, with the captured and slowly conva- 
 lescing Beothic for companion. He read a great 
 deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a fit 
 of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, curs- 
 ing, crying out for a chance of revenge, with 
 clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, 
 the Beothic would watch him closely, with under- 
 standing in his gaze. The savage was no linguist; 
 but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every 
 
 nationality. 
 
 164
 
 Two of a Kind 165 
 
 D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatu- 
 ation for Mistress Westleigh. The blow of the 
 skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever his 
 passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it 
 lacked nothing in vitality. It was a madness. It 
 was a bitter desire. How gladly he would risk 
 death, fighting for her and yet he would not 
 have hesitated a moment about killing her happi- 
 ness, to win his own, had an. opportunity offered. 
 Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness 
 were things apart from what he considered his love 
 for the beautiful English girl. 
 
 In this state of mind he built a hundred wild 
 dreams of carrying her away, and of ultimately 
 imprisoning her, should she still be averse to his 
 love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realiza- 
 tion of his position would come over -him and set 
 him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, despite 
 the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and 
 friendly exterior. He wondered if he could not 
 turn the young man to some use. He gave the 
 matter his attention. 
 
 One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to 
 Kingswell. All through it the Englishman was 
 itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his 
 time than was absolutely necessary under the 
 Frenchman's roof. But the narrator held him with
 
 1 66 Brothers of Peril 
 
 a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history 
 of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great 
 family that had fallen upon lean years; with a 
 ruinous chateau, a proud and studious father, and 
 a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams 
 and few pleasures; with a youth of hard and hon- 
 ourable soldiering wherever the banners of France 
 led the way; and with an early manhood of high 
 adventure and achievement in the Western colonies. 
 
 Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's 
 voice fairly trembled with emotion. He believed 
 no more of the tale than if he had already heard 
 the truth of the matter which was, in plain 
 English, that D'Antons was the bastard of a black- 
 leg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had 
 spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and 
 had won, by courage and cunning, to the position 
 of a captain of buccaneers in early manhood. The 
 achievements in the Western colonies had been 
 matters of the wrecking and plundering of what 
 others had built ; the high adventures God spare 
 me the telling of them! 
 
 After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one 
 of his reddest moods. He was sure that the pink- 
 cheeked youth had not believed a word of his story 
 had been laughing up his sleeve at the most 
 touching passages. He was sorry that he had not
 
 Two of a Kind 167 
 
 twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding the 
 narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this 
 artistic lying to such a pig's head! He jumped 
 to his feet, with a violence that almost startled the 
 Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room 
 like a madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the 
 walls. He knocked the few pieces of furniture out 
 of his erratic course, and spilled his books and pa- 
 pers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without 
 any ringing oaths or blistering curses. His rage 
 worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes bleed. 
 It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and 
 his hands, but found no ease in articulation. A 
 trickle of blood ran down his chin, from where he 
 had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was 
 such a daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beo- 
 thic, crouched fearfully against the wall, and fol- 
 lowed his movements with wide eyes; for, though 
 a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud 
 was a craven at heart. 
 
 Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and 
 the victim of it sank languidly into a chair beside 
 the Beothic's couch. He groaned and shivered. 
 For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden 
 between his hands. Looking up, his eyes met the 
 eyes of the native. In their furtive regard, he read 
 that which suggested a new move. Though, owing
 
 1 68 Brothers of Peril 
 
 to an inborn caution, he had never displayed a 
 knowledge of the Beothic language to his fellow 
 settlers, and had refrained from using any words 
 of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea 
 of it during his sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hith- 
 erto he had paid but scant attention to Red Cloud, 
 for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intol- 
 erance toward uncivilized peoples; but now he 
 leaned forward and spoke kindly to his companion. 
 
 It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned 
 to D'Antons' cabin. Under the new order of things, 
 Ouenwa had volunteered his services as assistant 
 night-guard of the two prisoners for the French- 
 man was virtually a prisoner. It was their custom 
 to keep watch turn and turn about, in two hours' 
 vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a com- 
 fortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was 
 also by the hearth. This precaution was taken for 
 fear of some treachery on the part of Red Cloud. 
 
 When the two entered the outer room, the fire 
 was burning brightly, and by its ruddy light they 
 saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to the 
 wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the 
 door. When the morning was well advanced, they 
 opened windows and door, and replenished the fire. 
 Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, 
 and looked in to see how D'Antons was faring.
 
 Two of a Kind 169 
 
 His fire was out and he was still abed. Kingswell 
 moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. 
 What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut 
 in his sleep! He laid his hand on the shapeless 
 shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding pelts 
 and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor 
 frantically. His exclamation brought Ouenwa to 
 his side. The Englishman pointed a finger of dis- 
 may at the demolished dummy. 
 
 " Tricked ! " he cried. " Rip me, but what a fine 
 jailer I am ! " They rushed back to the other room 
 and investigated the figure on the Beothic's couch. 
 That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and 
 bedding. Red Cloud also had faded away. 
 
 News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the 
 savage went through the fort like an electric cur- 
 rent. The settlers were more interested and sur- 
 prised over it than concerned. Even the invalids 
 sat up and conjectured on the captain's object in 
 fleeing to the outer wilderness, and the doubtful but 
 inevitable reception by the natives. They could 
 hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and 
 Red Cloud had gone as fellow conspirators, remem- 
 bering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward the 
 aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions. 
 
 William Trigget shook his head when he heard 
 the story, and rated the men who had been on duty
 
 170 Brothers of Peril 
 
 along the palisade with unsparing frankness. Sir 
 Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked 
 surprised. 
 
 " It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, 
 " to bundle up a few blankets into lifelike effigies, 
 and then to slip away while the jailer is elsewhere 
 spending a social evening." 
 
 Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl 
 steadily; but he failed to meet her eyes. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " they slipped away while two 
 men were on guard along the walls, and while the 
 self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' 
 sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was play- 
 ing chess with your ladyship." 
 
 " I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the 
 baronet quickly. " We have no use for the sav- 
 age; and as to D'Antons why, if the enemy kill 
 him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I 
 cannot help wondering at him taking so dangerous 
 a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with the 
 natives at any time, one would have a clue. But 
 he always treated them like dogs." 
 
 Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the 
 lady, and gave all his attention to the baronet and 
 the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of shame 
 had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His
 
 Two of a Kind 171 
 
 eyes, also, showed a change a chilling from blue 
 to gray, with a surface glitter and a shadow behind. 
 
 " You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, 
 " that D'Antons has taken what he considers the 
 lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to 
 him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have 
 removed Red Cloud to one of the other huts." 
 
 " He was-kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," 
 said the baronet. 
 
 " I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. 
 " Then I am not the only scapegrace of the com- 
 munity." 
 
 The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he 
 smiled at the young man. But the girl did not 
 receive the implication in the same spirit. She 
 stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising 
 species of bird that had flown in at the window. 
 
 " Such a remark rings dangerously of insubor- 
 dination," she exclaimed, " not to mention the im- 
 pertinence of it." 
 
 Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and 
 murmured a remonstrance. It is a wise father that 
 knows his own daughter. Kingswell turned an 
 expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. 
 Then he bowed to Sir Ralph. " If I am guilty 
 of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave your pardon," 
 he said. " As to insubordination why, I believe
 
 172 Brothers of Peril 
 
 there is nothing to say on that head, as I am a free 
 agent; but I think you understand, sir, that I and 
 my men are entirely at your service, as we have 
 been ever since the day we first accepted the hos- 
 pitality of Fort Beatrix. My men, at least, have 
 not failed in any duty, whatever my delinquencies." 
 
 With an exclamation of sincere concern, the bar- 
 onet stepped close to his friend and placed a hand 
 on either of his shoulders. 
 
 " Bernard my dear lad why all this talk of 
 pardon, and duty, and delinquencies, and God 
 knows what else? If you believe that I consider 
 you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me 
 ungrateful indeed." 
 
 His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced 
 Kingswell that the words were sincere, and so did 
 something toward the mending of his injured feel- 
 ings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his 
 manner unbent. He took his departure immediately 
 after. 
 
 Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door 
 closed behind Kingswell. 
 
 " I do not understand your treatment of him," 
 he said. " Surely you realize that he is a friend 
 and friends are not so common that we can 
 afford to flout them at every turn." He did not
 
 Two of a Kind 173 
 
 speak angrily, but the girl saw plainly enough that 
 he was seriously displeased. 
 
 " The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she 
 explained, weakly. " How indignation would have 
 burned within him had some one else allowed the 
 prisoners to escape." 
 
 The baronet gazed at her pensively for several 
 seconds, and then took her hand tenderly between 
 his own. 
 
 " You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweet- 
 ing," he said. " What you take for conceit is just 
 youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a clean 
 conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him 
 not a hint of it. I am sorry you like him so 
 little, my daughter, for he is a good lad and well- 
 disposed toward us."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER 
 
 FOR a time after D'Antons' departure into the 
 unknown, the little garrison of Fort Beatrix turned 
 day into night. Not a man indulged in so much 
 as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and 
 dawn; but from sunrise until afternoon the place 
 was as if it lay under an enchantment of slumber. 
 On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman 
 and Red Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell 
 with a request to be allowed to leave the fort, in 
 company with Black Feather. He told how Black 
 Feather was of the opinion that many of the tribes- 
 men were against the leadership of Panounia, and 
 that, if they could be found, it would be an easy 
 matter for Ouenwa to win their support. He, 
 Ouenwa, was of the blood of the greatest chief they 
 had ever known. They would gather to the totem 
 of the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the Eng- 
 lish people, they could be brought to the rescue of 
 
 '74
 
 By Advice of Black Feather 175 
 
 the. settlement. So Black Feather had told the tale 
 to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed. 
 
 " And you would have to go with Black 
 Feather? " inquired Kingswell, none too cheerfully; 
 for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger 
 brother. 
 
 " Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson 
 of Soft Hand," replied the boy. " When they see 
 me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft 
 Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love 
 for the English, and of my hatred for Panounia, 
 and of the great trading that will be done at the 
 fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. 
 Thus we shall all be saved thus Mistress Beatrix 
 shall escape capture." 
 
 At that Kingswell started and eyed his compan- 
 ion keenly. " You think Panounia can break into 
 the fort?" he inquired. 
 
 Ouenwa smiled. " Hunger can do it before the 
 snow melts," he replied, " and hunger will fight for 
 Panounia and the black captain." 
 
 " What do you know of the black captain ? " 
 
 " He is with the night-howlers. He will keep 
 their courage warm. He will struggle many times 
 to bring us 'to our deaths and to capture the lady. 
 That is all I know."
 
 176 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " But how do you know so much, lad ? " asked 
 Kingswell. 
 
 Ouenwa looked surprised. " How could I know 
 less, who dwelt within eyeshot of the black captain 
 for so many days, and who have learned the ways 
 of such wolves ? " he asked, in his turn. " You 
 know it already without my telling, friend-chief," 
 he added. 
 
 " Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the 
 other. 
 
 Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold 
 of the baronet's cabin since the time of his rebuff 
 at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course he 
 had seen the baronet frequently, and they had 
 smoked some pipes of tobacco together by the hearth 
 of the departed Frenchman; but from the presence 
 of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. 
 At the voice of duty, however, he sought the bar- 
 onet in his own house with excellent composure. 
 Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him 
 so nerved him to accept the risk of again seeing the 
 displeasure in her dark eyes. 
 
 Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when 
 they entered. Sir Ralph welcomed them cordially. 
 Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan 
 for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour 
 of the fort, he was deeply moved. He took a ring
 
 By Advice of Black Feather 177 
 
 from his own hand and slipped it over one of 
 Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting- 
 knife for Black Feather, and a Spanish dagger for 
 himself. He told Kingswell to supply them un- 
 stintingly from the store, with provisions and cloth- 
 ing for themselves and gifts for the natives whom 
 they hoped to win. 
 
 "Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A 
 chance of our salvation, and the only one, as far 
 as I can see." 
 
 At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the 
 room. At sight of the visitors by the chimney, 
 she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed 
 low in return. Her father advanced and led her, 
 with the manner of those days, to his own chair 
 beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, 
 of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black 
 Feather intended to set forth. The thought of it 
 stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with 
 shining eyes. 
 
 " 'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she 
 said. " Lad, where have you learned your bra- 
 very?" 
 
 Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. 
 " Half of it is the blood of my fathers," he re- 
 plied, " and half is the teaching of Master Kings- 
 well and half I gather from your eyes."
 
 178 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. 
 The baronet concealed his lips with his hand. 
 Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Brother, you have named one-half too many," 
 he said, laughing, " so your reason will carry more 
 weight if you leave out that in which you mention 
 my teaching. But come, we must find Black 
 Feather, and make arrangements to leave as soon 
 as dusk falls." 
 
 At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms 
 of the chair and turned a startled face toward the 
 speaker. " Surely, sir, you do not mean to leave 
 us, too!" she exclaimed. 
 
 Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking 
 at her; but Ouenwa saw the expression of eyes 
 and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the note 
 of anxiety in the clear young voice. 
 
 " I do not go with them, mistress,*' he said, " be- 
 cause my company would only delay their move- 
 ments. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am 
 a poor woodsman and already our garrison is 
 none too heavily manned." 
 
 " I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, 
 quietly. " I am sure that my father looks upon 
 you as his right hand, and that the men need you." 
 
 Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-con-
 
 By Advice of Black Feather 179 
 
 cealed surprise. Kingswell, murmuring polite ac- 
 knowledgment of her gracious words, strove to 
 get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He 
 failed. Ouenwa was the only one of the three who 
 knew that the words were sincere; but he had the 
 advantage of his superiors in having caught sight 
 of the sudden fear in the lady's face. 
 
 Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs 
 over the stockade to Ouenwa and the big warrior. 
 When the figures merged into the gloom, heading 
 northward, the two commanders descended from 
 the storehouse and entered the baronet's cabin. 
 Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine apparel. 
 
 " I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. 
 " The thought of those two brave fellows stealing 
 through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond belief." 
 
 He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor 
 up and down, up and down, with his head thrust 
 forward and his hands gripped behind his back. 
 
 ' The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. 
 " It will be bleak in the forest to-night away 
 from the fire." 
 
 She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to 
 the blaze. 
 
 " It is blowing for a storm," replied the young 
 man. ' The sky was clouded over when they left. 
 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their
 
 180 Brothers of Peril 
 
 trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from 
 prowling abroad for a good many hours to come." 
 
 Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard 
 in the wall, and from it produced a violin. Kings- 
 well stood by the chimney, watching her. The 
 baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. 
 The girl touched the strings here and there with 
 skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then returned 
 to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. 
 Suddenly she looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes 
 were as he had never seen them before. They were 
 full of firelight and dream. They were brighter 
 than jewels, and yet dark as the heart of a deep 
 water. 
 
 " Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, 
 though free from any suggestion of indifference, 
 sounded as if her whole being were far from that 
 simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kings- 
 well quietly reseated himself; and at that she 
 nestled her chin to the glowing instrument and 
 drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, 
 across the strings. A whisper of melody followed 
 the touch and sang clearer and more human than 
 any human voice, and melted into the firelight. 
 
 At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat 
 down and reclined comfortably with his head 
 against the back of his chair. For awhile he
 
 By Advice of Black Feather 181 
 
 watched his daughter intently; then he turned his 
 eyes to the heart of the fire and journeyed far in 
 a waking dream. 
 
 The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments 
 of peace with the magic strings. Kingswell, lean- 
 ing back with his face in the shadow, could not look 
 away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded 
 behind the singing of the violin. The candles on 
 the table flared at their sockets. The logs on the 
 hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. 
 Outside the wind raced and shouldered along the 
 walls. And suddenly the player stilled her hand, 
 and, without a word to either of the men, took up 
 one of the guttering candles from the table and 
 went quickly to her own chamber. She carried the 
 fiddle with her against her young breast, and the 
 bow like a wand in her hand. 
 
 Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. 
 Kingswell got to his feet with a sigh, and lifted his 
 heavy cloak from the bench. 
 
 " I must go the rounds," he said. " Good night, 
 sir." 
 
 With that he went out into the swirling eddies 
 of the storm. The baronet sat still for another 
 hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts 
 of joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It 
 had rung upon past glories and called up more re-
 
 1 82 Brothers of Peril 
 
 cent dishonours. And still another matter occu- 
 pied his mind, and was finally dismissed with a 
 smile and a yawn. It was that Beatrix had indulged 
 in one of her deliriums of music in young Kings- 
 well's presence, and that she had never before played 
 in any mood but the lightest in the hearing of a 
 stranger. 
 
 Kings well paced beside the sentry at the drifted 
 gate; but he kept his thoughts to the picture of 
 the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music and fire- 
 light that had seemed to pulse and spread together 
 about the long room. Again he saw the candle 
 flames leap high and waver, as if lured from their 
 tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clear- 
 est of all was the player's face. His heart was 
 filled to suffocation at the memory of it. Had 
 other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men 
 heard her soul and her dear heart singing and 
 crying from the strings of the violin?
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN 
 
 OUENWA and Black Feather turned their faces 
 from the little fort and the hostile camp beyond 
 the white river, and set bravely forward into the 
 darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding 
 hummocks, bending and twisting through the cov- 
 erts, crossing the open glades like a shadow and 
 all without any noise except the scarcely audible 
 padding of his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close 
 after. They had not gone far before the snow 
 began to fall and puff around them in blinding 
 clouds. The trees bent tensely under the lash of 
 the wind. More than one frost-embrittled spire 
 came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad 
 held on their journey, for they were both fresh 
 and strong, and eager to widen the spaces of wilder- 
 ness between themselves and the camp of Panounia. 
 
 Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the 
 snow on the leeward side of a thicket of low spruces, 
 broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire between 
 
 183
 
 184 Brothers of Peril 
 
 the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal 
 repast, and then rolled themselves in their rugs of 
 skin and fell asleep. They had no fear that any 
 of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. 
 They lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for 
 several hours. Then Ouenwa turned over and 
 yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in 
 an instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. 
 The white sun was half-way up the blue shell of 
 the eastern sky. All around the new snow lay in 
 feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it 
 clung in even masses, which showed that the wind 
 had died down long before the flakes had ceased to 
 fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold 
 meat and bread, swallowed some brandy and water, 
 and resumed their journey. 
 
 Not until the afternoon of the third day follow- 
 ing their departure from Fort Beatrix did the trav- 
 ellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black 
 Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few 
 paces ahead of Ouenwa, who caught the first sight 
 of the thin, melting signal of human life. It wav- 
 ered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of 
 yards in front. On their right hand lay the ice- 
 edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On their 
 left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a
 
 The Seeking of the Tribesmen 185 
 
 mountainous horizon. In front lay hope, and be- 
 hind the spur of menace. 
 
 " Is there a village yonder? " asked Ouenwa. 
 
 Black Feather replied negatively. 
 
 " The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his 
 own language, " and there was no lodge there when 
 last I saw it. We will approach under the shelter 
 of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the jour- 
 ney a few paces longer, and perhaps the arrival 
 twenty times safer." 
 
 Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution 
 expressed by his friend. 
 
 " But let us hurry," he said. " Remember that 
 around the stockade the black captain is ever stir- 
 ring the courage of the night-howlers." 
 
 At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from 
 the screen of brush into a tiny clearing on the 
 north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was not 
 ten yards across at this point. On its white surface 
 ran several trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which 
 had attracted them to the place curled up from the 
 apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the 
 travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the 
 doorway of the lodge. Ouenwa recognized her as 
 a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and 
 adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the infor- 
 mation to Black Feather.
 
 1 86 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " Then we may show ourselves," said the other, 
 " for if this woman was the great chief's friend 
 you may be sure that death has only strengthened 
 her loyalty. It is so with women with the wise 
 and the foolish alike. A man will stand close to 
 his comrade in the days of his glory and in the 
 press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the 
 fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the 
 departed ever before the matters of the present day. 
 A man must have the reward of his friend's praise 
 and the joy of his companionship; but a woman 
 makes a god of the departed spirit and looks for 
 her reward beyond the red gates." 
 
 Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage 
 reflections, for all he knew of women was that a 
 radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had his 
 heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and 
 down the bank, in silence. 
 
 The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught 
 sight of them immediately. She turned into the 
 dark interior of the wigwam, but appeared before 
 they were half-way across the frozen stream, with 
 a bow in her hand and an arrow on the string. 
 Black Feather and the lad raised their right hands, 
 palms forward, above their heads, and continued 
 to advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, 
 but did not relax her attitude of vigilance. Close
 
 The Seeking of the Tribesmen 187 
 
 to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and the 
 lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of 
 Soft Hand, and that his companion was Black 
 Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the arrow- 
 maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam for- 
 sook her post and advanced to meet them. 
 
 The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft 
 Hand's advisers, was not attractive to the eye. She 
 was bent hideously, though still of surprising bodily 
 strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the 
 matted locks of hair that clung about it and fell 
 over her ears and neck like a wig of gray tree-moss. 
 Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One 
 yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of 
 her mouth. Her hands were claws. Her skin was 
 no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than was 
 the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. 
 Her garments were unusually barbaric lynx- 
 skins shapelessly stitched together and hung about 
 with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint 
 nearly as long as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy 
 arms hung naked at her sides, as indifferent to the 
 nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes. 
 
 " Child," she said, " I heard that you were killed 
 that Panounia's men had slain you and a party 
 of English; but that I knew to be false, for I 
 saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers.
 
 1 88 Brothers of Peril 
 
 So I believed that you had crossed the great salt 
 water with the strangers." 
 
 Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman 
 listened with the keenest interest and many nods 
 of the head. 
 
 " It is well," she said. " They are scattered now, 
 some in hiding, some sullenly obedient to Panounia, 
 and some in captivity. Your need will bring them 
 together and awake their sleeping courage. I know 
 of a full score of stout warriors who will draw no 
 bow for Panounia, and who are all within a day's 
 journey of this spot, but sadly scattered, yea, 
 scattered in every little hollow, like frightened 
 hares." 
 
 " Do you live in this great lodge all by your- 
 self?" inquired Black Feather. 
 
 " My sons are in the forest, seeing to their 
 snares," replied the woman, eying the tall brave 
 sharply, " but within are a sick woman and a small 
 child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Pa- 
 nounia's camps." 
 
 She stood aside and motioned them to enter the 
 lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, with Black Feather 
 close at his heels. Within, it took them several 
 seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke 
 and shadow. Presently they made out a couch of 
 fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on it
 
 The Seeking of the Tribesmen 189 
 
 a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. 
 Both the woman and the child were gazing at the 
 visitors. The child began to whimper. 
 
 Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang 
 over the fire. He had found his squaw and one of 
 his lost children. 
 
 The sickness of Black Feather's wife was noth- 
 ing but the result of hardship and ill-treatment. Al- 
 ready, under the herb-doctor's care, she was greatly 
 improved. The meeting with her warrior went far 
 to complete the cure of the old woman's broths 
 and soft furs. The child was well; but the woman 
 knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder off- 
 spring. 
 
 Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long 
 at the lodge beside Little Thunder. With the 
 younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they 
 set out that same day to find the hidden warriors 
 who were against the leadership of Panounia.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS 
 
 BACK at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary 
 suspense. The wounded men recovered slowly. 
 The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and 
 the dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking- 
 fires, melting against the sky, told of their presence. 
 The inaction ate into the courage of the English 
 men and women like rust. The boat-building and 
 the iron-working at the forge were carried on list- 
 lessly, and without the old-time spurs of song and 
 laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent 
 displayed sombre faces to their little world. 
 
 Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. 
 He was not blind to the danger of their position, 
 and he continued to do double duty in everything; 
 but for all that he awoke each day with keen antici- 
 pation for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, 
 dreamed of other things than the poised menace 
 and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, 
 
 or any other city of the outer world, when Beatrix 
 
 190
 
 Brave Days for Young Hearts 191 
 
 Westleigh was domiciled within the rough walls 
 of the fort on Gray Goose River ? His heart would 
 not descend to those depths of despondency in which 
 lurk fear and hopeless anxiety. What power of 
 man, in that wilderness, could break down his guard 
 and harm the most wonderful being in the world? 
 The girl's brief season of unkindness toward him 
 was as a cloud that her later friendliness had dis- 
 persed as the sun disperses the morning fog. He 
 had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, 
 in her eyes, in her voice, and on several occasions 
 something that had set Jiis heart thumping in the 
 touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse 
 nor indifferent to his society, and the glances of 
 her magnificent eyes were open to translations that 
 set him looking out upon life and that wilderness 
 through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged 
 D'Antons draw their rapiers upon him he would 
 out-thrust, out-play, and out-stamp them all! Let 
 a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the fort 
 -he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour 
 on his breast, would scatter them like straw! And 
 all this because, for the first time in his life of 
 twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a 
 woman, and twenty-one was a fair, manly age 
 in those days. He had won to it unknowingly, 
 by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So
 
 192 Brothers of Peril 
 
 let not even the oldest of us criticize his attitude 
 toward life. A man's emotions cannot always be 
 herded and driven by the outward circumstances 
 of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the 
 mercy of a dog and a dull countryman. That to 
 which cautious Worldliness has given the name of 
 madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but 
 a spark of God's own courage and imagination in 
 the heart of youth : the years having not yet smoth- 
 ered it with the ashes of cowardice and calcula- 
 tion. 
 
 Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but 
 an assured front to the world. Now this love that 
 had him so irresistibly in its services only height- 
 ened the confidence of his address toward men and 
 events; but in the presence of its inspiration it 
 clothed him in unaccustomed and unconscious meek- 
 ness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick 
 to notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of 
 course; for was it not a greater and a more pleas- 
 ant matter to have brought a high-hearted, adven- 
 ture-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery 
 than to have a dozen idle courtiers bowing before 
 one, and a dozen sentimental poets mouthing verses 
 that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any 
 charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and 
 could not find it in her heart to regret the beaux
 
 Brave Days for Young Hearts 193 
 
 of London Town. But she did not know her heart 
 as the man knew his and as she knew his. 
 
 One morning they walked together along the 
 river-bank, before the open gate of the fort. The 
 air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows 
 along the snow were bluer than the dome of the 
 sky. The girl talked cheerily; for in the bright 
 daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour rising 
 from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong 
 and worshipping man, sword-girt, within arm's 
 length, it was hard to remember the menace con- 
 cealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very 
 bright, and the blood mantled under the clear skin 
 of her cheeks at the wind's caress. Now and then, 
 for a bar or two, she broke into song. 
 
 Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten 
 firm with his snow-shoes, after the last storm, ex- 
 pressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. It 
 was about a hundred yards in length, and broad 
 enough for two persons to walk in abreast, and 
 firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes 
 unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with 
 the stockade and the course of the river at that 
 point. When the turn was made at either end of 
 the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon 
 and every tree, every knoll, arid hollow. It was 
 done almost unconsciously, as a traveller instinct-
 
 194 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound 
 of voices ahead of him on a- dark road. 
 
 After a time the girl noticed her companion's 
 vigilance. "What do you expect to see?" she 
 asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with 
 her gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, 
 but recovered his wits with an effort. 
 
 " Nothing," he replied, " or surely we would not 
 be walking here." 
 
 She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 He looked down at her, displayed the desperate 
 condition of his heart in his eyes, and then looked 
 back again to the strip of woods that approached 
 them along the back. 
 
 " I am not afraid," he said and then, with 
 a gasp of dismay, he caught her and swung her 
 behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against 
 his sheltering back. 
 
 " We must return to the fort," he said. " Some- 
 thing is going on in that covert." 
 
 " Come! We will run! " she whispered, pulling 
 at his elbows to turn him around. 
 
 " No," he replied. " I shall walk backwards, and 
 you must keep behind me, and guide me. It is no 
 great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows m 
 what quarter to look for it,"
 
 Brave Days for Young Hearts 195 
 
 She made no reply. They began the retreat along 
 the narrow branch path that led to the gate of the 
 fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, and she pull- 
 ing at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder 
 at the woods. They were within a few yards of 
 the gate when he suddenly put his arms behind him, 
 caught her close, and lurched to one side. The 
 unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees 
 in the deep snow beside the path. Her cry of dis- 
 may brought her father and two others from the 
 fort. They found Kingswell staggering and con- 
 fusedly apologizing to Beatrix for his roughness. 
 In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a war- 
 arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging 
 the frightened girl, they rushed back to safety and 
 closed and barred the gate. 
 
 Hour after hour passed without the hidden war- 
 riors of Panounia making any further signs of hos- 
 tility, or even of their existence. The watchers on 
 the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any 
 movement. A shot was fired into the nearest cover 
 from one of the cannon, but without apparent effect. 
 
 Kingswell was on duty again within an hour 
 of the receiving of his wound. The ragged cut 
 caused him a deal of pain ; but the salve that really 
 took the sting and ache out of it was the thought 
 that he had been serving Beatrix as a shield when
 
 196 Brothers of Peril 
 
 the arrow struck him. He went the rounds of the 
 stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bear- 
 ing, and his air of calm assurance put courage into 
 the men. He saw to the strengthening of several 
 points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of 
 drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of 
 powder and ball. 
 
 It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again 
 saw Mistress Westleigh. He was passing the bar- 
 onet's cabin, and she opened the door and called 
 to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, 
 the better to see her face in the gathering twilight. 
 She extended her hands to him, with a quick ges- 
 ture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves 
 on the snow before clasping them in eager fingers. 
 
 " But you must not stand here, without anything 
 'round your shoulders," he said; but, for all his 
 solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her hands. 
 She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of 
 her fingers drove his anxiety to the winds. He 
 would have nothing of evil befall her, God knows! 
 -nay, not so much as a chill but how could 
 he keep it in his mind that she wore no cloak when 
 his whole being was a-thrill with love and worship ? 
 So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her flushed 
 face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent 
 regard.
 
 Brave Days for Young Hearts 197 
 
 " I called to you to thank you for saving my life," 
 she murmured. He had nothing to say to that. 
 Perhaps he had saved her life and again, perhaps 
 he had not. At that moment he was the last per- 
 son in the world to decide the question. His heart 
 and mind were altogether with the immediate pres- 
 ent. He realized that her hands were strong and 
 yet tender to the touch of his. The faint fragrance 
 of her hair was in his brain like some divine vint- 
 age. The sweet curves of cheek and lips how 
 near they were! She had called to him with more 
 than kindness in her voice. God had made a high 
 heaven of this fort in the wilderness. 
 
 " You were very brave," she said, .leaning nearer 
 ever so slightly. Sweet madness completely over- 
 threw the lad's native caution, and he was about 
 to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly 
 into the cabin, and left him standing with arms 
 extended in silent invitation toward the figure of 
 the imperturbed Sir Ralph. 
 
 " Well, my lad ? " inquired the baronet, calmly. 
 
 " Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kings- 
 well, hiding his chagrin and confusion with exceed- 
 ing skill. 
 
 " You looked just now as if you were expecting 
 me," said the elder. " Come in, come in. We can 
 talk better by the fire."
 
 198 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He 
 picked up his gloves from the trampled snow by 
 the threshold, and silently followed the baronet 
 into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there 
 which fact the lover noticed with a sinking of 
 the heart. He was alone with her father, and evi- 
 dently under marked suspicion, a fearful matter 
 to a young man who aspires to the hand of an 
 angel, and has not yet his line of action quite laid 
 down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought 
 of his presumption, called the respectability of his 
 parents and his income to his aid, and was ready 
 for the baronet when that gentleman turned and 
 faced him in front of the fire. 
 
 " I love your daughter," he said, with his voice 
 not quite so cool and manly as he had intended it 
 to be. 
 
 Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back 
 was to the fire, and so his face was in heavy shadow. 
 
 " I love her very dearly," continued the other. 
 " I believe no man could love a woman more, for 
 it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre of 
 my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not ex- 
 alted, and that she is the " 
 
 The baronet raised his hand sharply. 
 
 The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of
 
 Brave Days for Young Hearts 199 
 
 his sentence more effectively than a clap of thun- 
 der would have done it. 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, " she is the 
 
 daughter of a blackleg. She is the daughter of 
 
 a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken 
 
 gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high, 
 
 -you, the son of a humble merchant of Bristol." 
 
 Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, 
 with a hardy oath, he slapped his hand to his hip. 
 
 " Though she were the daughter of the devil 
 himself," he began, and came to a lame stop. The 
 baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly 
 smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. 
 Kingswell gave up all attempt at politic speech. 
 He had his own feelings to express. " Your daugh- 
 ter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, husk- 
 ily. " Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes 
 have been, they can reflect in no way on her sweet- 
 ness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not 
 mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of 
 all on the father of the most glorious woman in 
 the world. I remember you in your strength, 
 the greatest man in the county and my father's 
 noble friend. The world has taken a twirl since 
 then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, 
 my heart is with you warmer than my worthy 
 father's ever was."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BETROTHED 
 
 THAT Bernard Kingswell had accepted the bar- 
 onet's own estimation of his (the baronet's) char- 
 acter so frankly, in the heat of sentimental dis- 
 closure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than 
 a pang or two. What else could he expect of even 
 this true friend? He was a broken gamester and 
 a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict 
 of the law; but whether or not he was a blackleg 
 was a matter of opinion and the exact definition 
 of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well 
 disposed toward him, and that he believed nothing 
 vile or cowardly of him; but, best of all, he was 
 sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was 
 fortunate beyond his hoping of the past two years. 
 Should they get clear of the besieging natives and 
 out of the wilderness, her future happiness, safety, 
 and position would be assured. As Mistress Ber- 
 nard Kingswell, she would live close to the colour 
 and finer things of life again, gracing some fair 
 
 200
 
 Betrothed 2OI 
 
 house as a former Beatrix had done in other days 
 to wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. 
 The mist blurred his eyes at that memory and 
 dimmed his vision against the rough log walls 
 around him. 
 
 Another thought came to the broken baronet, 
 as he sat alone by the falling fire, after Kingswell's 
 departure, and awaited his supper and the reap- 
 pearance of his daughter. The thought was like 
 a black shadow between his face and the comfort- 
 ing fir sticks between his heart and the knowl- 
 edge of a good man's love and protection for Bea- 
 trix. Knowing the girl as he did, he felt sure that 
 she would never leave him, her exiled father, even 
 at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a 
 return to his own country meant prison or death 
 to him, she would hold to the wilderness, thereby 
 leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On 
 the other hand, should death come to him soon, 
 and in the wilderness, by the arrows of the en- 
 emy, for choice, his daughter's fetters would be 
 filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. 
 The desire to live out one's time clings about a 
 man's vitals against all reason. Even an exiled 
 and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless wil- 
 derness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain 
 zest in day and night and the winds of heaven.
 
 2O2 Brothers of Peril 
 
 With nothing to live for even with the scales 
 decidedly the other way Death still presents an 
 uninviting face. It may be the inscrutable mask 
 of him that fills with distrust the heart of the man 
 who contemplates the Long Journey. In that in-' 
 evitable yet mysterious figure, showing as no more 
 than a shadow between the bed and the window, 
 it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how 
 repentant, to read clear the promise of eternal peace. 
 What dark deed might not be perpetrated by the 
 shrouded messenger between the death-bed and 
 Paradise ? 
 
 Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and 
 hid the commonplace, beautiful radiance of the 
 hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he waited 
 for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and 
 planned for his daughter's future to the bitter end, 
 seeing clearly that, should the chances of battle 
 turn in favour of the little plantation, he must re- 
 adjust his sentiments toward death. A man of 
 lower breeding and commoner courage would have 
 groaned in the travail of that thought, and cursed 
 the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until 
 he heard his daughter at the door, and then stood 
 up and hummed softly the opening bars of a Som- 
 erset hunting-song. 
 
 Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her
 
 Betrothed 203 
 
 face to him. He bent and kissed her tenderly. For 
 a little while they stood without speaking, hand in 
 hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. 
 Suddenly the girl pressed her cheek against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " What was it," she whispered, breathlessly, 
 " the matter that held you and Bernard in such 
 serious converse?" 
 
 " And has your heart given you no hint of it? " 
 he laughed. 
 
 "And why, dear father? What has my heart 
 to do with your talk of guards and ammunition 
 and supplies, save that it is with you in every- 
 thing?" 
 
 The baronet released her hand and, instead, 
 placed his arm about her slender and rounded waist. 
 " It is a story that I cannot tell you, sweet, I, 
 who am your father," he said. " But I think that 
 you shall not have to wait long for the telling of 
 it, for both youth and love are impatient. And 
 here comes the good Maggie with the candles." 
 
 During the meal the baronet was more lively 
 and entertaining than Beatrix had seen him for 
 years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually un- 
 talkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give 
 her undivided attention to the quiet voice of her 
 heart. The man was equally anxious to avoid in-
 
 204 Brothers of Peril 
 
 trospection as she to court it. But he, for all his 
 laughter and gay stories of gay times spent, dis- 
 played a colourless face and haunted eyes behind 
 the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, 
 glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed 
 tresses, her eyes of unnamable colour, her throat 
 and lips and brow, were all radiant with the magic 
 fire at her heart. 
 
 Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a 
 vague ending, sipped his wine, put down the glass 
 clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the table. 
 The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the 
 throat. But she noticed nothing of his change of 
 manner; and presently they left the table and 
 moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping 
 faggots across the dogs. Then she filled his to- 
 bacco-pipe for him, and lit it with a coal from the 
 hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his 
 hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and 
 Maggie Stone opened to Kingswell. 
 
 Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after 
 greeting him cordially but quietly, donned his 
 cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few 
 minutes. " I have a word for Trigget," he said. 
 Then he pulled on his gloves, pushed open the door, 
 and stepped out to the dark. 
 
 Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone
 
 Betrothed 205 
 
 snuffed them, surveyed the room and its inmates 
 with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced her 
 unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was 
 as sentimental as heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and 
 her nature was of an inquisitive turn. She sighed 
 plaintively as she left the presence of the young 
 couple. 
 
 The door leading to the kitchen had no more 
 than closed behind the servant than Bernard, with- 
 out preliminaries, dropped on one knee before the 
 lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to 
 his lips. She did not move, but stood between 
 the candles and the firelight, all a-gleam in her 
 beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at 
 the golden head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes 
 were grave. 
 
 " Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lift- 
 ing his face or altering his position, " dear heart, 
 can it be true? " 
 
 She bent her head a little lower. Her heart 
 seemed as if it was about to break away from its 
 bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, al- 
 most unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his. 
 
 " Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note 
 of fear in his voice : " Tell me if I may win you ! 
 Tell me if your heart has any promise ? " 
 
 Before she could control her agitation suffi-
 
 206 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ciently to answer him, the outer door of the cabin 
 was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph 
 stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist 
 and wrenched it sharply. 
 
 " We are attacked," he cried. " They have piled 
 heaps of dry brush along the palisades and they 
 have set the stuff on fire ! It burns like mad. Lord, 
 but it looks more like hell than ever ! " 
 
 Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of 
 the smoke from the burning evergreen-needles in- 
 vaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his feet, 
 still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at 
 the baronet. For a second he paused and peered, 
 questioning, into her wonderful eyes. 
 
 " Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. 
 " I love you, Bernard." 
 
 He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every 
 lover knows), and even while the first brief and 
 tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets 
 clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and 
 the baronet thrust sword and hat into Bernard's 
 hands. 
 
 " Come ! For God's grace, lad, come and rally 
 the men ! " he shouted. 
 
 Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw 
 the shrewd work that awaited him. He ran to it 
 with a leaping heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A FIRE - LIT BATTLE. OUENWA's RETURN 
 
 THE heaps of brush outside the palisades burned 
 with a long-drawn roaring, like the note of a steady 
 wind. It was a terrifying sound. The glare of 
 the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, stain- 
 ing the trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, 
 staining the faces of the desperate settlers as if 
 with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the 
 walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The plat- 
 form upon which the guns stood was a mass of 
 flame before any use could be made of the pieces. 
 The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings 
 and roarings, flinging orange and crimson showers 
 to the black dome above. The savages skirmished 
 behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the 
 blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their 
 muskets through the singed loopholes, firing low, 
 and taking the chances with heroic fortitude. Sir 
 Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, 
 
 with their swords in their hands and encourage- 
 
 207
 
 2o8 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ment in speech and bearing. Both knew that this 
 engagement would be a fight to the finish ; and both 
 felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver 
 commander than Panounia was against them. 
 
 The ammunition was carried from the storehouse 
 to the shed over the well, for the fire was already 
 crackling against the log walls of the buildings. 
 Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of 
 sparks and burning fragments broke from the gun- 
 platform; and, for the moment, the warriors were 
 scattered from that side. One of the cannon had 
 exploded. That corner of the stockade immediately 
 fell and settled to the snow. Next instant the sec- 
 ond gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole 
 charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them 
 to cover in yelling disorder. At that the English- 
 men cheered, and set about fighting back the en- 
 croaching flames. 
 
 Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn 
 upon at need, must have dwelt behind the shelter 
 of the spruces; for within a very few minutes of 
 the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were 
 about the fort again. Kingswell took note of it, 
 and suspected the inspiration to be nothing else 
 than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and daz- 
 zling smile. A spur, too, he suspected the spur 
 of the mongrel Frenchman's evil sneer and black
 
 A Fire-lit Battle 209 
 
 temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal char- 
 acter to feel that it would prove but a plaything 
 for such a personality as the buccaneer's. He 
 looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the 
 fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire 
 to have the fellow by the throat, or at the point 
 of his sword, in tones that rang like a curse. 
 
 Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the 
 well-house. 
 
 He knew where the Pelican's powder lay among 
 the stores, done up in five canvas bags of about 
 twelve pounds each. With two of these under his 
 cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from 
 the subsiding red barrier that still held the enemy 
 from the interior of the fort. By this time the 
 back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The 
 roofs of the cabins, deep with snow, were safe; 
 but the rear walls were all in a fair way of being 
 ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the war- 
 riors of Panounia diligently piled against them. 
 
 Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the 
 square to Sir Ralph, William Trigget, and all the 
 men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old 
 boatswain was, by this time, a very active conva- 
 lescent. Kingswell whispered a word or two in 
 his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the 
 wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade.
 
 2IO Brothers of Peril 
 
 They saw a party of the enemy gather ominously 
 close to the glowing edge of the breach. Kings- 
 well passed one of the bags of powder to his com- 
 panion. " When I give the word," he said. 
 
 Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into 
 the obstruction, brandishing spears and clubs, and 
 screaming like maniacs. Kingswell uttered a low, 
 quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glow- 
 ing coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for 
 the shelter of the well-house at top speed. Tom 
 Bent followed his movements on the instant. To- 
 gether they reached the narrow shelter; and, be- 
 fore they could turn about, the air shook and reeled, 
 as if a bolt of wind had broken upon them, a blind- 
 ing flash seemed to consume the whole night, and 
 a puffing, thumping report stunned their ears. 
 They stumbled against the sides of the shed, clawed 
 desperately, and fell to the ground. 
 
 When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boat- 
 swain regained their senses (which had left them 
 for only a few seconds), they crawled from the 
 well-house and stared about them. The square was 
 not so bright as it had been, and, save for a few 
 huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the 
 shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the 
 fighting was now farther away that the settlers 
 had sallied forth on the offensive. They could not
 
 A Fire-lit Battle 211 
 
 understand such recklessness; but they decided, 
 without hesitation, to take the risk. They ran to 
 the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, coals, 
 wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and 
 blown broadcast. They crossed the torn ground 
 and headed for the tumult in the fitfully illuminated 
 spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English 
 shouts mixed and clashed in the frosty air. On 
 the very edge of the shifting conflict, the old sailor 
 clutched his master's arm. " Hark ! " he cried. 
 " D'ye hear that now ? It be the yell o' that young 
 Ouenwa, sir, or ye can call me a Dutcher ! " 
 
 At the same moment, before Kingswell could 
 reply to Bent's statement, a club, thrown by a re- 
 treating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side 
 of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. 
 He moaned, as he toppled over. Then he lay still 
 on the ruddy snow. 
 
 Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living- 
 room of the baronet's cabin. Word had reached her 
 that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in time 
 to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy 
 by the explosions of the bags of powder. When 
 victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the hands 
 of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his follow-
 
 212 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ers, though spent from their journey, had made 
 a timely and successful rear attack. 
 
 The girl was radiant. She moved up and down 
 the room, eagerly awaiting the return of Bernard 
 Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and 
 laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond 
 peradventure, whom heart, hands, and lips longed 
 to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, 
 it would have been her father even a night ago 
 he would have shared, equally with the lover, in 
 her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped 
 from hearth to door, and peered out into the black- 
 ness, with no thought of any of those brave fellows 
 save the lad of Bristol. 
 
 The burning brush had all been trampled out, 
 and the fires in the walls and stockade had been 
 quenched with water. The little square was dark, 
 save for the subdued fingers of light from windows 
 and doors. Beatrix peered from the open door, 
 regardless of the cold. She was outlined black 
 against the warm radiance inside the room. Her 
 silken garments clung about her, pressed gently by 
 a breath of wind. She rested a hand on either 
 upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as 
 if, at a whim, she would fly out from the threshold. 
 Presently shadowy figures took shape in the gloom, 
 and she heard her father's voice, and William Trig-
 
 A Fire-lit Battle 213 
 
 get's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught 
 no sound of Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A 
 sudden fear caught her, and she stepped out upon 
 the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In 
 a moment he was at her side, and had an arm about 
 her. 
 
 " Sweeting," he said, " you must stay within for 
 a little. The night is bitterly cold, and " 
 
 " But where is Bernard? " she whispered, staring 
 past him. 
 
 " He is with the others," replied the baronet, 
 " with Ouenwa and his brave fellows, and the 
 dauntless Trigget." 
 
 He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back 
 to the cabin at the same time. He closed the door, 
 and laid a wet sword across a stool. 
 
 "What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide 
 eyes and bloodless cheeks. " Tell me ! Tell me ! " 
 
 " The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph. 
 
 "Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? 
 How should he be hurt?" 
 
 She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. 
 Could it be that the High God had been deaf to 
 her prayers? 
 
 Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he 
 knew of Kingswell's condition was that he still 
 breathed, and that his hat had saved his head from
 
 214 Brothers of Peril 
 
 being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, 
 he did not know. He braced himself, and smiled. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " he is not seriously hurt, 
 so do not stand like that for God's sake!" 
 
 At the last words his voice lost its note of com- 
 posure, and broke shrilly. He caught her to him. 
 " Rip me," he cried, " but if you act so when he 
 is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever 
 gets a real wound ! " 
 
 The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her 
 eyes, and the blood returned to her cheeks. She 
 clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoul- 
 der. Presently she looked up. 
 
 " Take me to him," she begged, " or bring him 
 here." 
 
 " So you love this Bernard Kingswell ? " inquired 
 her father, looking steadily into her face. 
 
 Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. 
 " Yes," she replied, quietly. 
 
 The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword 
 from the stool, eyed it dully, and leaned it against 
 the wall. He was trying to imagine what the lad's 
 death would mean to his daughter's future; but 
 he could only see that it would mean a few more 
 years for himself. He started guiltily, and returned 
 to his daughter. His face was desperately grim.
 
 A Fire-lit Battle 215 
 
 " Wait for me," he said. " I'll see how the lad 
 is doing now; and shall return immediately." 
 
 Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been 
 built for D'Antons, and which had passed on to 
 Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped 
 within. He found the wounded gentleman lying 
 prone on his couch, half-undressed, and with ban- 
 daged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, 
 was beside the still figure. 
 
 " He opened his eyes," whispered the boy ; " but 
 see, he has closed them again. His spirit waits at 
 the spreading of the trails." 
 
 Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen 
 dressings on Kingswell's head. They were exceed- 
 ingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had 
 been cut away from the place of the wound. 
 
 ' Your work, Ouenwa ? " he inquired. 
 
 The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's 
 pulse. 
 
 " It beats strong," he said. " The heart seems 
 sure enough of the path to take." 
 
 Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. " He has 
 chosen," he said, gravely. " He has seen the hunt- 
 ing-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty 
 of them has not lured him along that trail." 
 
 The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's 
 eyes. " You are a brave lad, and we are deep
 
 216 Brothers of Peril 
 
 in debt to you," he exclaimed. " Your bravery and 
 wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch 
 your friend a few minutes longer ; I but go to bring 
 another nurse to help you. Then you may sleep."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE 
 LITTLE FORT 
 
 FROM that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his 
 twenty braves and the little garrison of Fort Bea- 
 trix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought a 
 confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last 
 attacks upon the settlement. It consisted of a 
 sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had torn 
 them from the person of a tall antagonist during 
 a brief hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the 
 gear had won free, Black Feather regretted to say. 
 Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, and 
 sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power 
 over Panounia, and brought down that wolfish 
 chief's hatred instead. 
 
 On the morning after the battle, the little plan- 
 tation presented a busy though sombre appearance 
 to those of its people who were in condition to view 
 it. Along the woods and rising ground to the 
 
 north, the snow and frozen soil were being hollowed 
 
 217
 
 218 Brothers of Peril 
 
 to receive the bodies of those slain in the fight. 
 The dead of the enemy had been carried far into 
 the woods, and piled together with scant ceremony. 
 The settlers had lost three of their number, 
 young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. 
 Four of the rescuing party were dead and wounded. 
 Tom Bent was on his back again, and Kingswell's 
 head was ringing like a sea-shell. William Trigget 
 was cut about the face and sore all over; but he 
 kept on his feet. 
 
 After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, 
 and the shrouded bodies lowered therein and cov- 
 ered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's orders, 
 set about building themselves lodges outside the 
 stockade. It had been decided that, for mutual 
 support, the friendly Beothics should camp near the 
 fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With 
 axes borrowed from the settlement, they soon had 
 the forest ringing with the noise of their labour. 
 Though they had travelled light, in their hurry to 
 rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, 
 they had dragged along with them a few sled-loads 
 of deerskins and birch bark, with which to cover 
 their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly 
 about the torn and scorched palisades; for it was 
 a small matter to trim the poles and fit the pliable 
 roofs across the conical frames.
 
 Cards of Both Colours 219 
 
 The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming 
 the edges of white barren and black forest and 
 round hill. The stars shone silver above, and the 
 fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear 
 glowed red below. In the outer room of the cabin 
 that had been Pierre d'Antons', Beatrix sat alone 
 by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leap- 
 ing flames in the chimney, and his were on the 
 fair lines of her averted face. The top of his head 
 was so swathed in bandages that he looked like 
 a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as 
 paper in the unstable light. His eyes were bright 
 with a touch of fever brought on by his suffering. 
 His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or 
 two steady enough and concerned with the present 
 and the room in which he lay, and then wandering 
 abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and 
 imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and 
 sentences, but in such a gabbling style that his nurse 
 could have made nothing of what was passing in 
 his brain even if she had taken such advantage of 
 his condition as to try. 
 
 After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed 
 by a profound silence, he suddenly flung out one 
 arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her 
 dreaming, and she turned her face back to him 
 from the fire.
 
 22O Brothers of Peril 
 
 " Twenty days without water," he whispered, 
 distinctly. " Twenty days and that beast Trow- 
 ley is laughing to see my tongue between my teeth 
 like a squeezed rag." 
 
 The girl caught up a mug of water and held it 
 to his lips. He drank greedily, and then took hold 
 of her hand. His head was against the hollow of 
 her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt 
 beside his low bed. 
 
 " Beatrix," he said, gravely, " let us pretend that 
 you love me." 
 
 She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer 
 to see his eyes. 
 
 " Why pretend, dear heart? " she answered. " I 
 do love you, as you very well know. Sleep again, 
 Bernard, with your head so pressed close." 
 
 " I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. 
 The fever was as a fine haze across the mirror of 
 his brain. 
 
 " It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing 
 her lips to his cheek. The lad's eyes shone with a 
 clearer light at that. 
 
 " Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he 
 said. " Tell me, or strength will bring nothing 
 but sorrow. Better death than to find your kisses 
 a trick of dreaming."
 
 Cards of Both Colours 221 
 
 " Is it not a pleasant dream? " she asked, softly, 
 smiling a little. 
 
 " Ay ; to dream so, a man would gladly have 
 done with waking," he replied. " If it were not 
 in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow 
 the vision through eternal sleep as God is my 
 judge." 
 
 " Hush, dear lad," she murmured, " for the heart 
 and the body of Beatrix are of right Somersetshire 
 stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever and the 
 love she gives you will outlast life as God is our 
 judge and love His handiwork." And she kissed 
 him again, blushing sweetly at her daring. And 
 so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, 
 and he with his bandaged head against her lovely 
 shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered the cabin, fum- 
 bling discreetly at the latch. 
 
 The days passed slowly in the heart of that 
 frozen wilderness between the white river and the 
 long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. 
 Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley 
 and rough wood. The forge rang again with the 
 clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber with 
 the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long 
 dismayed, and blood ran more redly to the stir 
 of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained 
 fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and
 
 222 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Mistress Westleigh recovered all her glory of eyes 
 and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by all, car- 
 ried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black 
 Feather, with his wife and his surviving child in 
 a snug lodge, felt again the zest and peace of living. 
 Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort 
 in the days of security. He brooded alone, avoid- 
 ing even his daughter. His face grew thinner, 
 and his shoulders lost something of their youthful 
 vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, 
 dimmed his courage and his philosophy. The very 
 relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' supposed 
 overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant en- 
 durance. He counted it a grievance that God had 
 not led him to his death in the last fight, as he had 
 prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now 
 he must plan it over again over and over in 
 cold reasoning and cold blood, and alone by the 
 fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon him 
 at times; and again he would be all repentance, 
 telling his heart that, no matter how bitter his fate, 
 it was fully deserved. And so, day by day, the 
 shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed 
 of madness germinated and took root. 
 
 For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in 
 her father's manner and habits. The thing dis- 
 closed itself so gradually, and she was so intent
 
 Cards of Both Colours 223 
 
 upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the 
 baronet had been variable in his moods, to a certain 
 extent, ever since the beginning of his troubles 
 years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw 
 that something had gone radically wrong in the 
 broken gentleman's mind, and his knowledge had 
 come about in this wise. 
 
 The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman 
 and warrior, was a still more ardent seeker after 
 bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had 
 taught him something of the art of reading. Later, 
 Mistress Westleigh had carried it further. By the 
 time that Kingswell was safely on the road to his 
 old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell 
 out a page of English print very creditably. His 
 primer was one of those volumes of Master Will 
 Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left 
 behind him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin 
 to take her turn at tending the invalid, and found 
 Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youth- 
 ful brow painfully furrowed with thought. She 
 took the book from him and fluttered the pages, 
 pausing here and there to read a line or two. 
 
 " Run away," said she, " and on a shelf beside 
 our chimney you will find a book with easier words 
 than this contains. There is matter here, I think, 
 that is beyond a beginner."
 
 224 Brothers of Peril 
 
 At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow 
 and nodded his sore head eagerly. 
 
 " Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," 
 he said. 
 
 Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sin- 
 cere, as was everything about him, Ouenwa left 
 the presence of the lovers and ran across the snow 
 to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the 
 baronet. That gentleman looked at him long and 
 keenly, so that the boy trembled and wished himself 
 out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and 
 a harsh laugh, " Help yourself, lad," said Sir 
 Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of books, and, 
 kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the 
 divers volumes and broad-sheets with which it was 
 piled high. He found a rhymed and pictured chap- 
 book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the 
 first verses when a movement behind his back 
 brought him to a sense of his whereabouts. He 
 turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a 
 walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust 
 at a spot of resin on the log wall. The poor gentle- 
 man stamped and straddled, pinked the unseen 
 swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a 
 dashing air. There was a light in his eyes and 
 a twist of the lips that struck Ouenwa's heart cold 
 in his side. The light was that which, when seen
 
 Cards of Both Colours 225 
 
 in the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides 
 that man from the laws and responsibilities that 
 are the portion of his fellows. It was the gleam 
 of idiocy that sinister sheen that cuts a man from 
 his birthright. 
 
 The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with 
 his face turned over his shoulder. He watched 
 every movement of the fantastic exhibition with 
 fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so ter- 
 rible was the display in that quiet, dim-lit room. 
 Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of the mod- 
 ish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the 
 lad with a smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin 
 cheeks, and sane eyes. 
 
 " Tis a pretty art this of the French rapier," 
 he said, " and I make a point of keeping my wrist 
 limber for it." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Ouenwa. 
 
 Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat 
 down despondently in the nearest chair. Ouenwa 
 saw, at a glance, that his presence was already for- 
 gotten. With furtive movements and such haste 
 as he could manage, he began replacing some of 
 the books and selecting others to carry away with 
 him. 
 
 " Sweeting," said the baronet, " a pipe of tobacco 
 would rest me."
 
 226 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his 
 strange mood, believed that Mistress Beatrix was 
 in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not 
 to point out the little mistake. He got up noise- 
 lessly and filled the bowl of a long pipe from a great 
 jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter of 
 wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at 
 the fire. Stepping softly to the baronet's side, he 
 placed the pipe in his hand, and held the light to 
 the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively 
 and unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books 
 and left the cabin. Fear of Sir Ralph's wild man- 
 ner was cold in his veins.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST 
 
 AND now to tell something of the movements 
 of Pierre d'Antons, which, of late, have been car- 
 ried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond 
 the ken of the reader. 
 
 The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night 
 of fire and blood, knocked the adventurer's fortunes 
 flatter than they had ever been. You may believe 
 that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that 
 he had killed him long ago, when the lad threw 
 his followers into the battle. It was then that 
 D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, 
 and, with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse 
 back to victory. His swordsmanship and energy 
 availed him nothing. He missed capture only by 
 slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugi- 
 tive from both sides, he ran to the woods, avoiding 
 the scattered and retreating warriors who had so 
 lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as 
 
 he would have avoided William Trigget or Sir 
 
 227
 
 228 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Ralph Westjeigh. One of his late comrades, trail- 
 ing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beo- 
 thic curse after him. Another, better prepared, let 
 fly a war-club, and missed him by an inch. He 
 slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and 
 the dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated 
 savages would mean death and perhaps torture. 
 
 The black captain did not run on any vague 
 course, despite his haste. He knew where a pos- 
 sibility of help awaited him. He had given his 
 wits to more than plans of revenge and kidnapping 
 during his sojourn with Panounia. In winning the 
 men to him, he knew that his hold upon them would 
 not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the 
 Beothic maiden Miwandi, he had laid up store 
 against an evil day. But he had not won her heart 
 simply on a chance of defeat far from it, for he 
 had not dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleas- 
 ant thing in itself to be the lover of that nut-brown, 
 lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl for Mi- 
 wandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans 
 concerning, the lady in the fort. She loved the 
 tall foreigner quickly and surely. She was extrav- 
 agantly proud of his power over the warriors of 
 her people. He was her brave, and as such she 
 cherished him openly, to the envy rather than the 
 criticism of the other women of the encampment.
 
 D'Antons Parries Another Thrust 229 
 
 Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of 
 Panounia's faction. She was seventeen years of 
 age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the 
 skins of some of her people and lighter than that 
 of others. Her hair was brown and of a silken tex- 
 ture, very unlike the straight locks of the savages 
 of the great continent to the westward. Her fea- 
 tures were good, and her eyes were full of life 
 and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in the 
 breasts of more than one of the young bucks of 
 the camp. 
 
 Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men 
 of both parties, shaped his course for the lodge 
 in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at 
 his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; 
 instead, a pang of honest affection for the comely 
 young woman toward whom he was flying for help 
 stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and 
 Miwandi caught him in her arms. In a few quick 
 words, he told her of the defeat, and of the anger 
 of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed 
 him once, passionately, and then fell to collecting 
 a few things a quiver of arrows, a bow, furs, 
 and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. 
 He accepted it without a word. She bound her 
 snow-shoes to her feet, and retied the wrenched 
 thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark
 
 230 Brothers of Peril 
 
 lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless 
 sword, damp with blood, was still in his hand. 
 They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, 
 and other cries that inspired them to flight. 
 
 They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their 
 breathing. Of the two, it was the man who some- 
 times lagged, who often stumbled, and who cried 
 once that he would rather be captured than strain 
 limb and lung to another effort. D'Antons had 
 been actively employed throughout the day, and 
 again during the most desperate passages of the 
 battle, and his strength was well-nigh exhausted. 
 At last he fell and lay prone. In an instant the 
 girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shield- 
 ing his body from the cold, and revived him with 
 brandy from the scanty supply in his flask. By 
 that time the dawn was breaking gray under the 
 stars, and all sounds of the chase had died away. 
 She cut an armful of fir-branches, and with them 
 and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, she 
 made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they 
 lay until high noon, fugitives in a desolate wilder- 
 ness, with death, in half a dozen guises, lurking 
 on either hand. 
 
 Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band 
 of Panounia's followers soon gave up the hunt. 
 Matters were not in condition to be mended by
 
 D'Antons Parries Another Thrust 231 
 
 killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. 
 The defeated savages had their own wounds to see 
 to, and already too many dead to hide under the 
 snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing 
 and killing of their false leader D'Antons, would 
 have to wait. Now, of all those valorous warriors 
 who had menaced the little fort since the very be- 
 ginning of winter, only ten remained unhurt. Pa- 
 nounia was dead. He had breathed his last in the 
 edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, 
 and had been carried farther in by one of his men. 
 Thus his death had remained unknown to the vic- 
 tors; as had also the deaths of many more of the 
 besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad 
 who had once boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was 
 desperately hurt. Painfully and hopelessly, those 
 of the wounded who could move at all, the women, 
 and the unhurt of the band, retreated toward far- 
 ther and surer fastnesses. 'The wounded who could 
 not drag themselves along were left to perish in 
 the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. 
 Some bled to death within the same time. A few 
 lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's men 
 in the bright daytime, they were reported as 
 having been found dead. 
 
 D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced 
 marches, until they reached a wooded valley and
 
 232 Brothers of Peril 
 
 a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed 
 inland and southward. At last they found a spot 
 that promised shelter from the bleak winds as well 
 as from prying eyes. There they built a wigwam 
 of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly 
 plentiful in the protected coverts around. They 
 soon had a comfortable retreat fashioned in that 
 safe and voiceless place. 
 
 " It will do until summer brings the ships," re- 
 marked D'Antons, busy with plans whereby he 
 might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. 
 Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi 
 brave tales of far and beautiful countries. He spoke 
 of white towns above green harbours, of high for- 
 ests with strange, bright birds flying through their 
 tops, and of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds 
 of great, sharp-horned beasts of more weight than 
 a stag caribou. 
 
 " Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart- 
 of-Life," she cried. 
 
 So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, 
 should be his queen in a palace of white stone above 
 a tropic sea.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS 
 
 DAY by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sick- 
 ness increased. It strengthened in the dark, like 
 a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day by day, 
 it grew over the bright surface of his mind and 
 spirit. The sureness of its advance was a fearful 
 thing to watch. 
 
 By the time March was over the wilderness, 
 with a hint of spring in the morning skies, the 
 baronet's condition was noticeable to even the dull- 
 est inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman 
 spoke little and that little was seldom to the 
 point. It seemed as if he had forgotten how to 
 smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He 
 walked alone for hours on the frozen river and 
 through the woods. The Beothics of the camp be- 
 fore the fort stood in awe of him. At times he 
 treated Beatrix and Bernard Kingswell as stran- 
 gers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and 
 chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners. 
 
 233
 
 234 Brothers of Peril 
 
 All day, indoors and out, he wore a rapier at his 
 side. In the cabin he spent half of the time inert 
 by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and 
 the rest of it in sword-play with an imaginary an- 
 tagonist. 
 
 It was well for Beatrix that she had found Ber- 
 nard's love before the fresh misfortune descended 
 upon her. But even with that comfort and inspira- 
 tion, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. 
 They had been such friends ; and now he had blank 
 eyes and deaf ears for all her actions and words. 
 It was twenty times harder for her than to have 
 seen him struck down by knife or arrow. Death 
 seemed an honest thing compared to that coldness 
 and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly 
 about him with the passing of each day. It was 
 as if another life, another spirit, had taken pos- 
 session of the familiar body and beloved features. 
 After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears 
 had any potency to break through the awful 
 estrangement. Her prayers, her fond recollections 
 of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the 
 dull eye. 
 
 By the end of March the busy boat-builders and 
 smiths of the settlement and every man save Sir 
 Ralph was either one or the other had two new 
 boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts,
 
 A Grim Turn of March Madness 235 
 
 of about the capacity and model of the Pelican. 
 They were intended for fishing on the river and 
 the great bays and for exploration cruises. 
 
 William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder 
 as he was a master mariner, entertained great ideas 
 of fishing and trading more openly than Sir Ralph 
 had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving 
 out a real home in the wilderness, and his wife 
 was of the same mind. 
 
 " We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," 
 he said. 
 
 Kingswell promised that, should he win back to 
 Bristol, and find his affairs in order, he would use 
 his influence in behalf of the settlement on Gray 
 Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding 
 to the new land. 
 
 " It be rough, God knows," he said, " but it be 
 sort o' hopeful, too. If they danged savages leaves 
 us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for spendin' the 
 balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. 
 There be a grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't 
 turn our backs on, not if we could help it." 
 
 Kingswell himself was not building any dreams 
 of fixing his lot in that desolate place ; and neither 
 was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on the 
 subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point 
 overseas. Beatrix, now despondent at her father's
 
 236 Brothers of Peril 
 
 trouble, and again happy in her love, gave little 
 thought to the future of the settlement, or to any 
 plans for the days to come, save vague dreamings 
 of an English home. 
 
 March wore along, and in open spaces the snow 
 shrank inch by inch. Then rain fell; and after 
 that a time of tingling cold held all the wilderness 
 in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could 
 run over the snow-fields and the bed of the river 
 without snow-shoes; for the surface was tough 
 as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, 
 Sir Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. 
 The mornings lifted clear silver and pale gold along 
 the east. The evenings faded out in crimson and 
 saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were 
 lit, made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thin- 
 nest green. And back of it all, despite the frost, 
 hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and blos- 
 soming trees. 
 
 The lure of the season touched every one in the 
 fort, and the camp beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's 
 blood like some fabled wine for what vintage of 
 France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. 
 It mounted to his head with a high, unregretting 
 recklessness, and doubled the madness that already 
 lurked there. Something of his old manner re- 
 turned, and for a whole evening he sat with Bea-
 
 A Grim Turn of March Madness 237 
 
 trix and Kingswell and talked rationally and hope- 
 fully. Also, that same night, he played a game 
 of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees 
 into it clearly and without fear. He recalled the 
 past without any sign of embarrassment. But 
 Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a 
 light of derision in them. 
 
 Very early in the morning, while the stars still 
 glinted overhead, and the promise of day was no 
 more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir 
 Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin 
 and slipped out. He was warmly and carefully 
 dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his 
 sword free under his arm. Very cautiously he 
 scaled the palisade and dropped to the frozen crust 
 of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay 
 around the corner of the fort, so he was safe from 
 detection from that quarter. He looked about and 
 behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly 
 into the woods. 
 
 Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, 
 and his soft-shod feet left no mark on the hard 
 surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and over, 
 and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust 
 of the wilderness thawed a little, and here and there 
 the baronet's feet broke through. At that he began 
 to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt.
 
 238 Brothers of Peril 
 
 He flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, 
 and called for Maggie Stone to bring him food and 
 drink. He called again and again. He shouted 
 other names than that of the old servant. In a 
 sudden agony of fear, he jumped to his feet and 
 plunged through the evergreens. At every third 
 step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. 
 He screamed the name of his daughter, " Beatrix, 
 Beatrix 1 " or was it his dead wife he was calling? 
 He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen 
 of England who had been his boon companions in 
 the old days, forgetting that death had taken some 
 of them away from him, and that the rest, to a 
 man, had turned of their own accord. Presently 
 he ceased his foolish outcry and plodded along, with 
 no thought of the course, sobbing the while like 
 a lost child. 
 
 The sun began its downward journey, and still 
 the baronet, with his sheathed sword under his arm, 
 staggered across the voiceless wilderness. Toward 
 mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and 
 he travelled with less difficulty. Ever and anon 
 his poor eyes pictured a running figure in an edge 
 of blue shadow before him. At times it was the 
 figure of the nobleman he had killed in England, 
 in the dispute at the gaming-table, and again it 
 was a friend, Kingswell or Trigget, or another
 
 A Grim Turn of March Madness 239 
 
 of the fort, and yet again it was Pierre d' Antons. 
 But no matter how he strove to run down the 
 lurker, he lost him every time. Thirst plagued him, 
 and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds 
 of the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but 
 passed gradually. The west took on the flame and 
 glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars 
 pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night 
 gathered her cloudless darkness over the wilderness ; 
 and still the demented baronet followed his aimless 
 quest. 
 
 Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph 
 Westleigh's departure from Fort Beatrix, Pierre 
 d' Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden 
 and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed 
 person in the doorway of their lodge. The woman 
 cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of the 
 wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face 
 turned gray as the ashes around the fire-stone. The 
 unexpected visitor drew his blade, flung the sheath 
 behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the 
 fugitive adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and 
 caught up his own sword from where it lay on 
 a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more 
 in wonder than anger. 
 
 " Westleigh ! " he cried. " What brings you here, 
 you fool and how many follow you?"
 
 240 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his 
 shoulder. He reeled a little, but his eyes changed in 
 their light and colour. 
 
 " I am alone," he said. " Yes, I am alone." His 
 voice was quiet. He seemed sorely puzzled. D'An- 
 tons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he laughed 
 harshly. 
 
 " So you have hunted me down, old cock," he 
 said, smiling. " You'll find that the quarry has 
 fangs in his own den." 
 
 The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. 
 He advanced his rapier. In a second the fight was 
 on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity 
 supported the baronet's starving muscles and reel- 
 ing brain. Then his thrusts began to go wide, and 
 his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped him 
 in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life- 
 blood of the last baronet of Beverly and Randon 
 made a vivid circle of red on the snow of that name- 
 less wilderness.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE RUNNING OF THE ICE 
 
 IT was Beatrix who first discovered her father's 
 flight ; but that was four hours after its occurrence. 
 The fort wa,s soon astir with the news. Men set 
 out in all directions, in search of the missing one. 
 Half a dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the 
 hunt. They went east and west, north and south. 
 The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the mad- 
 man's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying 
 Bernard and Ouenwa. She tried to show a brave 
 face ; but something in her heart told her to expect 
 the worst. The three travelled southward, and 
 shortly before sunset returned to the fort, unsuccess- 
 ful. They found that all the other searchers had 
 got back, save Black Feather and a young brave 
 named Kakatoc, who had set out together. 
 
 By the merest chance Black Feather and his com- 
 panion happened upon the place where the baronet 
 had first broken through the melting crust. With 
 but little effort they found where he had rested
 
 242 Brothers of Peril 
 
 and taken up his journey again. Farther on, the 
 faintness of the trail put an edge to their determina- 
 tion to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a 
 challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it 
 eagerly. But within two hours of finding the marks, 
 they lost them again. They ranged wide ; and at last 
 Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad 
 of snow beside a stunted spruce. In several places 
 the branches of the tree showed where the snow 
 had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It 
 was enough to keep them to the quest. 
 
 Not in the next day, but in the early morning 
 after that, the two Beothics happened upon a shel- 
 tered valley and a snow-cleared space, with a fire- 
 stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately 
 stood. As for signs of blood, there were none. 
 Snow had been deftly spread and trampled over 
 it. All around the so evident site of a human 
 habitation the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save 
 for a little path that ran down to a hole in the ice 
 of the stream. After considering the place, and 
 shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food 
 they had in their pouches and turned their feet back 
 to the fort. They passed within a few paces of 
 a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's 
 body lay uncovered. But how were they to know
 
 The Running of the Ice 243 
 
 it, when even the prowling foxes had not yet found 
 it out ! 
 
 For several days the search was continued by 
 the settlers and their allies, but all in vain. It was 
 not even suspected that the deserted camping-place 
 which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so 
 lately been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons 
 and the blood of the lost baronet. For a few days 
 longer the business of the settlement lagged, and 
 the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever- 
 brightening and mellowing season. Then the axes 
 struck up their chant again, and the little duties of 
 the common day erased the forebodings of Eter- 
 nity from the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress 
 Beatrix could see nothing of the reawakening of 
 life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the 
 mist across her eyes. She had loved her father 
 deeply and faithfully, with a love that had been 
 strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt 
 toward him the combined affections of daughter 
 and sister and friend. She had made allowances 
 for the weaknesses of his later years that equalled 
 the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best- 
 loved child. She had not been, and was not now, 
 blind to the passion of gaming that had forced 
 him to exile and an unknown death; but she had 
 forgiven it long ago. As to the alleged murder
 
 244 Brothers of Peril 
 
 that had made such an evil odour in London, she 
 believed and rightly that hot blood and over- 
 much wine had been to blame, and that her father's 
 sword had been drawn after the victim's. 
 
 Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to com- 
 fort the bereaved girl. He urged her to spend much 
 of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for 
 their future, and to cheer her he built them even 
 more hopefully than he felt; for he realized that 
 many difficulties were yet to be overcome before 
 Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two 
 often went on long tramps through the woods. 
 Their evenings were always spent together. Some- 
 times he read aloud to her, and sometimes they 
 played at chess. One evening she got her violin, 
 and played as wonderfully as she had on that other 
 occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward 
 without a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle 
 aside and nestled into his arms. He held her ten- 
 derly, patting the bright hair against his shoulder, 
 and murmuring broken assurances of his love and 
 sympathy. She wept quietly for a little while ; but 
 when she kissed him at the door, her face and eyes 
 shone with something of their old light. 
 
 By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced 
 through the shrinking snow in the open places ; but 
 in the woods the drifts continued to withstand the
 
 The Running of the Ice 245 
 
 wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose 
 River was no longer a broad path of spotless white. 
 Its surface was mottled with patches of sodden 
 gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might 
 hear a myriad of tiny voices, some sibilant and 
 some tinkling and liquid, in and under the enfee- 
 bled ice. Up and down the valley, between the 
 knolls and wooded hills, the little streams were 
 already snarling and roaring, and here and there 
 flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through 
 all the wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twi- 
 light, midnight, and dawn were stirred by the falling 
 cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring 
 fragrance was in the air the scent of millions of 
 swelling buds and crimson willow-stems. 
 
 About that time three warriors of the following 
 of the dead Panounia arrived at the fort, with pray- 
 ers for peace on their lips and gifts in their hands. 
 They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, 
 and Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and 
 two of his chiefs from the camp. A lengthy busi- 
 ness was gone through with, and much strong Vir- 
 ginian tobacco was burned. Documents were writ- 
 ten in English and in the picture-writing of the 
 natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both lan- 
 guages. Then they were solemnly signed by all 
 present, and peace was restored to the great tribe
 
 246 Brothers of Peril 
 
 of the North, and protection, trade, and lands were 
 granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Bea- 
 trix and their descendants. The three visitors went 
 back to their people with rolls of red cloth and 
 packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and other 
 useless trinkets on their shoulders. 
 
 Shortly after their departure from the fort, a 
 storm of rain blew up from the sou' east. All day 
 the great drops thumped on the roofs of the cabins, 
 on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the 
 sodden snow. The firs and spruces gleamed clean 
 and black under the drenching showers. A veil 
 of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods 
 and along the black tangles of alders and gray 
 fringes of willows. All night the warm rain con- 
 tinued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along 
 the pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the 
 fort that the ice in the river was moving. The 
 settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. 
 Beatrix was with them. 
 
 " See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," 
 said Kingswell, pointing eagerly. " And there is 
 an open space. Ah, it has closed again! How 
 slowly it grinds along! " 
 
 " It will run faster before night," replied the girl, 
 and Ouenvva, who was versed in the ways of his 
 northern rivers, nodded silently.
 
 The Running of the Ice 247 
 
 While they watched, admiring the swelling, 
 swinging, ponderous advance of the great surface, 
 and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony 
 that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the 
 group and spoke a few quick words to Black 
 Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and whis- 
 pered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Bea- 
 trix and Kingswell, and then questioned Black 
 Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to 
 the lovers. 
 
 " The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. " Blue 
 Cloud has seen it. He fears that the water will rise 
 over the flat and the fort." 
 
 The river continued to rise until evening. After 
 that the waters subsided a little, great cakes of 
 rotten ice hung stranded along the crest of the 
 bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. 
 But from up the valley the thunder of a hidden 
 disturbance still boomed across the windless air. 
 
 " The jam had broken down-stream," said 
 Ouenwa. 
 
 Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, 
 was satisfied, and retired to his couch with an easy 
 mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of the 
 dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but 
 dragged him to the floor. 
 
 " Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. " Damn,
 
 248 Brothers of Peril 
 
 but you sleep like a bear! The fort is in danger! 
 We must run for higher land." 
 
 "Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to 
 his feet, " but what is the trouble ? Are we at- 
 tacked?" 
 
 " The river is all but empty of water," replied 
 Ouenwa. " The ice sags in the channel, like an 
 empty garment. The water hangs above, behind 
 the third point where we cut the timber for the 
 boats." 
 
 Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed 
 pulling on his heavy clothes. Though he did not 
 fully understand the threatening danger, he felt 
 that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs 
 of his deerhide leggins, Ouenwa told him that warn- 
 ing had reached the fort but a few minutes before. 
 
 "How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestow- 
 ing a wallet of gold coins and some other valuables 
 about his person. 
 
 Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's 
 possessions, threw open the door and stepped out. 
 
 " Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his 
 shoulder. " And I do not understand," he added, 
 " for Wolf Slayer hates us all." 
 
 The other, close at his heels, made no comment 
 on that intelligence. He scarcely heard it, so 
 anxious was he for the safety of Mistress Beatrix.
 
 The Running of the Ice 249 
 
 The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran 
 straight to his sweetheart's door. It was opened 
 by the maiden herself. She and the old servant 
 were all ready to leave. 
 
 An hour passed; load after load of stores and 
 household goods was carried to the low hills be- 
 hind the fort; and still the river lay empty, with 
 its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; 
 and still the unseen jam held back the gathering 
 freshet. The women wept at the thought that their 
 little homes were in danger of being broken and 
 torn and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed. 
 
 " It will be no great matter for them to build 
 new cabins in a safer place," she said to Kingswell. 
 
 He was looking at the natives dragging their 
 rolled-up lodges to higher ground. He turned, 
 smiling gravely. 
 
 " You have no love for the wilderness ? " he 
 asked, " and yet but for this forsaken place, you 
 and I might never have met." 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed 
 face to his tender regard. 
 
 " So it has served my turn," she said. " Now 
 that I have you, I could well spare these wastes 
 of black wood and empty barren." 
 
 Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in 
 silence for that confession ever since their betrothal.
 
 250 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Hitherto she had not once spoken with any assur- 
 ance of their future together. She had treated the 
 subject vaguely, as if her thoughts were all with 
 the past and with the tragedy of her father's death. 
 
 " Would you face the homeward voyage in one 
 of the little boats ? " he asked, softly. 
 
 " Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied. 
 
 " Dear girl," he said, " I think that a stout ship 
 called the Heart of the West will be setting sail 
 from Bristol, for this wilderness, before many 
 days." 
 
 " Would the fellow dare return ? " she asked ; 
 for she had heard the story of Trowley's treachery. 
 
 " He will think himself safe enough," replied 
 Kingswell. " No doubt he owns the ship now 
 has bought it from my mother for the price 
 of a skiff, after telling her how recklessly he bat- 
 tled with the savages to save her son's life." 
 
 He laughed softly. " The old rogue will be sur- 
 prised when I step aboard," he added. 
 
 Before she could answer him a booming report 
 shook the sunlit air. It was followed, in a second, 
 by a long-drawn tumult a grinding and crashing 
 and roaring as if the firmament had fallen and 
 overthrown the everlasting hills. The sagging ice 
 below them reared, domed upward, and split with 
 clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses,
 
 The Running of the Ice 251 
 
 which were hurled down the stream and over the 
 flats. A thing of brown water and sodden gray 
 lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow 
 where the Beothic encampment had stood an hour 
 before. The eastern stockade of the fort went down 
 beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught. 
 
 All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow 
 raced down the river, and the air hummed and 
 vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the 
 released waters had passed; and the fort had suf- 
 fered by no more than an exposed side.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY 
 RECEIVES A VISITOR 
 
 WOLF SLAYER, who had brought warning of the 
 menace of the freshet to Fort Beatrix, soon showed 
 his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a 
 starving condition and still weak from wounds re- 
 ceived in the battle in which his father had been 
 killed. Had he been well and rilled with meat, 
 he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the 
 fort and the camp lie in ignorance of the danger. 
 For ten days he was fed and cared for by the set- 
 tlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself 
 again. The old arrogance burned in his eyes; the 
 old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa read the 
 signs and wondered how the deviltry would show 
 itself under such unpropitious circumstances. 
 
 Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth 
 night after the overflowing of the river. About 
 midnight he awoke, turned over, and could not 
 get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake, 
 
 352
 
 Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes 253 
 
 thinking of the future. He could hear Bernard 
 Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought of his 
 friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude 
 and comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled 
 wistfully in the darkness, and put the bright vision 
 away from him. What was that? He breathed 
 more softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or 
 or what? He shifted noiselessly to the farther 
 edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his pil- 
 low of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an 
 unseen wrist and closed with a silent enemy. 
 
 Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled 
 against a stool, with a clatter that startled Kings- 
 well to his feet. The Englishman leaped to the 
 hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a 
 roll of birch bark on top of them. Then he stepped 
 aside until the yellow flame lighted the room. The 
 illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had 
 the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, 
 when Kingswell saw his way to the rescue. He 
 recognized the youth, and in a fit of English indig- 
 nation at such a return for hospitality caught him 
 by neck and belt and hurled him bodily from the 
 prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on his 
 feet, snatched open the door (which he had left 
 ajar), and fled into the darkness.
 
 254 Brothers of Peril 
 
 A morning of late May brought a friendly native 
 to Fort Beatrix, with word that three English ships 
 were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and 
 Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due 
 season, with the welcome news that one of the ves- 
 sels was the Heart of the West. 
 
 Both the new boats and the old Pelican were 
 made ready for the expedition. Kingswell com- 
 manded the Pelican, with Ouenwa and six natives 
 for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the 
 second boat, and Black Feather of the third. Will- 
 iam Trigget and Donnelly were left to see that 
 no harm came to Mistress Westleigh and, as 
 the boats stole down-stream, in the gray of the 
 dawn, William Trigget treasured in his hand a 
 duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kings- 
 well, gentleman, of Bristol, bequeathed and willed 
 all his earthly goods to Beatrix Westleigh, spinster, 
 of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late 
 of Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England. 
 
 The parting between Beatrix and her lover had 
 been a fond one, but the man had noticed (and in 
 his heart regretted) the fortitude with which she 
 bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about 
 it in his sleep, and again, as he looked longingly at 
 her cabin in the bleak dawn. He tried to comfort 
 himself with memories of a hundred incidents that
 
 255 
 
 placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of 
 doubt. But, for all that, she might have shed a 
 few tears. Surely she realized the chances of dan- 
 ger ? the risk he was running, for her sake ? 
 Love is edged and barbed by just such little and 
 unreasonable questionings. 
 
 A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray 
 Goose River when the three boats swung down with 
 the current. The Beothics were armed with Eng- 
 lish knives. There were no firearms aboard any 
 of the little vessels. Kingswell and Ouenwa had 
 swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for their 
 left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft- 
 proved cutlass. 
 
 The sun did not get above the horizon until the 
 little fleet was clear of the river's mouth. There a 
 breath of wind sighed through the cordage, and 
 the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell 
 leaned forward and looked under the square can- 
 vas of the Pelican's big wing. 
 
 " An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, 
 sharply. " Who has taken it upon himself to im- 
 prove on my orders?" 
 
 A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, 
 turned and crawled aft. Then the blanket fell 
 away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an
 
 256 Brothers of Peril 
 
 amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, 
 laughed up at the commander. 
 
 " Promise to shield me from the wrath of Mag- 
 gie Stone, when we go back," she whispered, in 
 mock concern. 
 
 For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and 
 embarrassment in his eyes, the while Ouenwa hid 
 a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the 
 queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the 
 morning, under the grave regard of the Beothic 
 warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow. 
 
 " What authority has Maggie Stone? " he cried. 
 "If any one has a right to control your actions, 
 surely it is I." 
 
 She slipped to the seat beside him. " And you 
 told me I could not accompany you that it would 
 not be safe," she replied. 
 
 " Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain 
 behind," he said. " God knows it hurt me to refuse 
 your so so flattering a wish. But you accepted 
 it calmly, dear heart." 
 
 " I accepted it for what it was worth," she 
 laughed. " I could not shed tears over a parting 
 which I felt certain was not to take place." Her 
 face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. 
 " I could not have stayed in the fort without you," 
 she whispered. " Dear lad, I am afraid to death
 
 Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes 257 
 
 whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe 
 this love has made a coward of me ! " 
 
 For a little while there was no sound aboard the 
 Pelican save the tapping of the reef-points on the 
 swelling breast of the sail, and the slow creak of 
 the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed 
 ahead, while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. 
 Then the man stooped his head close to the girl's. 
 
 " But on this trip," he whispered, " you must 
 obey me for both our sakes, dearest. It would 
 be mutiny else." 
 
 " I shall always obey you," she replied " al- 
 ways, always so long as you do not again leave 
 me alone in Fort Beatrix." 
 
 " William Trigget was there," he ventured. 
 "And Maggie Stone." 
 
 She laughed at that. " Poor Maggie ! " she 
 sighed. " Poor Maggie ! She will rate me soundly 
 for my boldness. She has ever a thousand dis- 
 courses on the proprieties ready on the tip of her 
 tongue." 
 
 " Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if 
 caught by a new and somewhat disconcerting idea. 
 " Rip me, but I've never given them a thought ! " 
 
 Beatrix laughed delightedly. " You must not let 
 them trouble you now," she said. " When we get 
 back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a dozen
 
 258 Brothers of Peril 
 
 staid companions, and " She paused, and blushed 
 crimson. " I forget that I am penniless," she added. 
 
 Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it 
 lay in her lap. " How long, think you, shall you 
 stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he asked. 
 
 The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden 
 bay, and Kingswell, Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, 
 and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a wooded 
 hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the 
 Heart of the West, close in at her old anchorage 
 after the day's fishing. Work was going briskly 
 forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The 
 other vessels, which were much smaller than Trow- 
 ley's command, lay nearer the mouth of the river 
 harbour. The declining sun stained spars and 
 furled sails to a rosy tint above the green water. 
 
 " Hark ! " whispered Kingswell, touching the 
 girl's arm, as she crouched beside him in the fringe 
 of spruces. 
 
 A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, 
 reached their ears. 
 
 " 'Tis Trowley," Jie said, and chuckled. " How 
 will he sound to-night, I wonder ? " 
 
 " You will not be rash, Bernard, for my sake," 
 pleaded the girl. 
 
 He assured her that he would be discreet. 
 
 It was dark when they got back to the little cove
 
 Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes 259 
 
 in which the boats were beached. About midnight, 
 with no light save the vague illumination of the 
 scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. 
 They moved with such caution that it took them 
 two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. They 
 passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix 
 was transferred from the Pelican to Black Feather's 
 boat, and Tom Bent joined the commander. A veil 
 of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light 
 as had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Be- 
 fore them the Heart of the West loomed dark, a 
 thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights. 
 The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft 
 and seaward of the ship. The Pelican stole in under 
 the looming stern, with no more noise than a fish 
 makes when he breaches in shallow water. The 
 crew steadied her beside the groaning rudder with 
 their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart and 
 peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had 
 peered on a night of the preceding season. The 
 low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung 
 from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in 
 silver sticks that bore the Kingswell crest, burned, 
 with bending flames, on the table. On the locker 
 under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a 
 boat-cloak in an untidy heap. The edge of the table 
 was within two feet of the square stern-window.
 
 260 Brothers of Peril 
 
 For a little while Kingswell listened with 
 guarded breath. Then, swiftly and lightly, he 
 pulled himself across the ledge of the window, 
 scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. 
 Very cautiously he drew his rapier with his right 
 hand and his dagger with his left. For a minute 
 or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breath- 
 ing regularly and deeply, and harkening to the in- 
 numerable creaking voices of the decks and bulk- 
 heads, and the muffled voices and laughter from 
 forward. For the occasion he had donned the hat, 
 coat, breeches, and boots all now stained and 
 faded in which Master Trowley had last seen 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the 
 companion ladder just forward of the cabin door. 
 A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed above 
 the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the 
 bulkhead with a resounding crack, and swung, trem- 
 bling. The bulky figure of Trowley entered, and 
 the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, 
 and big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kings- 
 well drew a deep breath, and composed his dancing 
 nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His 
 emotions were disconcertingly mixed. 
 
 The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, 
 deny the charge if you like) seemed to fill the cabin
 
 Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes 261 
 
 to overflowing with his lurching, great body. He 
 tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and 
 yanked up the top of the locker. With muttered 
 revilings at the excessive cost of West Indies rum, 
 he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its 
 hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle- 
 light like diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass 
 as one from which he had often drunk his grog 
 a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those 
 articles the mariner placed on the table, scarcely 
 a foot from the watcher's head. Next he loaded 
 himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it 
 at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard 
 heard the puffings and gruntings with which the 
 deed was accomplished, like half a gale in his ear. 
 At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his 
 elbows on the table, gazed for a second at the 
 square window that opened on to the mysterious 
 gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The 
 liquor gulped and gurgled in its passage to the glass. 
 The reek o'f it permeated the air. 
 
 " Dang it," grumbled the mariner, " d'ye call 
 this rum! Sink me, but it be half water! " 
 
 However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and 
 smacked his lips at the end of it as he never would 
 have after a draught of water. 
 
 Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell
 
 262 Brothers of Peril 
 
 arose to his feet and looked down at Master Trow- 
 ley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his wide, 
 stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only 
 a few seconds, but to the staring mariner it seemed 
 a matter of hours. He sprawled on his low stool, 
 open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerve- 
 less on the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at 
 his feet. 
 
 "Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning 
 across the table he tweaked the purple tip of Trow- 
 ley's nose between thumb and finger. To do so, 
 he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany 
 for a second. The indignity called forth no more 
 than a gurgle of terror from the master mariner. 
 Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it 
 within an inch of the whiskered face. Still the fel- 
 low sagged on his stool, unable to stir a muscle. 
 Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa 
 crawled through the port, with a coil of light rope 
 in his hand. Tom Bent followed. Trowley threw 
 off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation and 
 got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In 
 an instant he was flat on his back, with a gagging 
 hand across his mouth and another at his throat. 
 He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely 
 gagged with a strip of his own boat-cloak. 
 
 Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port,
 
 Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes 263 
 
 and whispered a word or two. One by one, four 
 of his braves entered, with their knives unsheathed. 
 Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly 
 opened the cabin door. On the port side of the 
 alley-way, beside the companion ladder, Trowley's 
 mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over 
 him and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded 
 significantly; and in an amazingly short time the 
 mate of the Heart of the West was as neatly trussed 
 up as the master. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the 
 rail, aft, and waved a lantern in three half-circles. 
 And not long after that, Mistress Westleigh, Mas- 
 ter Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with 
 Canary wine, in the cabin of the Heart of the West. 
 In the waist of the ship the stout English sailors 
 and the skin-clad Beothics drained their pannikins, 
 and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. 
 Old Tom Bent was toast-master; and also he told 
 them an amazing story.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF 
 
 SHORTLY before midnight, Tom Bent went 
 quietly about the task of waking both watches and 
 the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix 
 were manned, with the muffling oars. The two small 
 anchors by which the Heart of the West swung 
 in the tide were fished into two of the boats by 
 hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was ac- 
 complished, the ship was free without so much as 
 a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. 
 Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the 
 bows of the ship, and at a signal from a lantern in 
 Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs to the 
 oars. Then all lights aboard the Heart of the West 
 were covered, and in the darkness, beside the great 
 tiller, Kingswell caught his inspiration and his re- 
 ward to his heart again. 
 
 The girl did not leave the commander's side, but 
 kept watch on the high poop-deck throughout the 
 
 journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their toil, 
 
 264
 
 Takes Much Upon Herself 265 
 
 and after them, drawn by lines that were some- 
 times taut and sometimes under water, but always 
 invisible in the darkness, the ship stole like a shape 
 of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. 
 With the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on 
 signs of life. By that time she was hidden from 
 Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. 
 The pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan 
 was manned, and the anchors were lifted to their 
 places on the forecast rail. Headsails were set, 
 and the square mizzen was run up. The boats 
 dropped astern and were made fast, and the weary 
 men climbed aboard the ship. 
 
 All day the Heart of the West threaded the green 
 waterways of the great Bay of Exploits. A light 
 and favourable breeze lent itself to the venture. 
 After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blan- 
 ket, lay down by the mizzen and fell asleep. She 
 was tired. The easy motion of the ship, and the 
 song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her 
 fathoms deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy 
 lullaby. Kingswell rigged a piece of sail-cloth from 
 the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from 
 the sun. 
 
 At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray 
 Goose River, was reached. By sunset the mouth 
 of the river was entered. Just then the wind failed.
 
 266 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The boats were manned again, and the ship taken 
 in tow. 
 
 Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, 
 with the rough blanket about her dainty body and 
 her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. 
 Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the 
 shelter of canvas, and saw that she was smiling 
 in her dreams. How white were her dropped eye- 
 lids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. 
 Her lips were parted a little, as if to whisper some 
 sweet secret. A strand of her bright, dark hair was 
 across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the 
 blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested 
 on the deck. The rosy palm was upturned. Kings- 
 well stooped lower and kissed it softly. Standing 
 up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahog- 
 any-hued mariner grinned sheepishly, and gave a 
 hitch to his belt. 
 
 " Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, " but, 
 if the angels in heaven be half so sweet to look 
 at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in spite o' 
 the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden 
 harps with a light heart if if the equals of her- 
 self were a-listenin' on the quarter-deck." 
 
 Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" 
 said he. " You are in love, Tom Bent." 
 
 " Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, " for it can't
 
 Takes Much Upon Herself 267 
 
 be helped. I'm in love and awash, and danged near 
 to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to keep 
 sober in the ' Powdered Admiral ' on Bristol dock 
 as within ten knots, to win' ward or lee'ard, o' your 
 sweetheart, sir." 
 
 " I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bow- 
 ing gravely. 
 
 Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled 
 away about his duty. He was mightily pleased 
 with himself at having expressed his admiration 
 for his young commander's choice in such felici- 
 tous terms. He prided himself on his eye for fem- 
 inine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank 
 of the fair one, and a fairer than Mistress West- 
 leigh he swore by all the gods of the Seven Seas 
 he had never laid eyes on. 
 
 The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk 
 when the toiling boats and the tall ship rounded the 
 point, and opened the fort to the view of the daring 
 cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the 
 anchors plunged into the brown current. The rattle 
 of the cables through the hawse-holes awoke Bea- 
 trix. She had been dreaming of a great garden 
 in Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged 
 paths with her father on one side and her lover 
 on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas 
 shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and
 
 268 Brothers of Peril 
 
 with the clangour of the running cables in her ears, 
 for a second she did not know where she was. A 
 vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she 
 recalled the incidents of the last two days, and was 
 about to crawl from her- resting-place, when the 
 edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell looked 
 down at her. 
 
 " Wake up," he said. " We are at the fort, and 
 Trigget and Maggie Stone are coming off in a 
 canoe." 
 
 " Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain mat- 
 ters," she replied. " You must bear the brunt of 
 Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat 
 up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way 
 that only a dunce could fail to comprehend. Under 
 cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he kissed the warm 
 lips and the bright hair. 
 
 " Trust me," he laughed ; and at that moment 
 Trigget and the servant climbed to the poop by 
 way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He ad- 
 vanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held 
 a folded paper in his hand, and that the honest 
 eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist. 
 
 " What is it ? " he inquired ; for he had entirely 
 forgotten, for the time being, the manner of Mis- 
 tress Westleigh's joining with the expedition. 
 
 " Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing
 
 Takes Much Upon Herself 269 
 
 him the paper. " It it well, maybe it'll not 
 be o' any use now." 
 
 " Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, 
 tearing it across. 
 
 Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way 
 Sir Ralph went," she sobbed. " Oh, my beautiful 
 little lady an' her fit mate for any nobleman of 
 London town ! " 
 
 "What the devil do you mean?" cried Kings- 
 well. Then the truth dawned in his preoccupied 
 brain. " Dry your eyes," he said. " She is safe 
 and sound." 
 
 " Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trig- 
 get, devoutly. 
 
 " What .the mistress be safe, d'ye say ? " cried 
 Maggie Stone, with a sudden change of face. 
 
 Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being 
 bawled at on the poop of his recaptured ship, even 
 by an old serving maid. " Your mistress is safe 
 and in my care," he said. 
 
 " Indeed, sir? " she queried. " An' may I make 
 so bold as to ax when ye married Sir Ralph West- 
 leigh's daughter?" 
 
 William Trigget murmured something to the 
 effect that his presence was required forward, and 
 took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and stared 
 haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for
 
 270 Brothers of Peril 
 
 words fully expressive of his feelings. His indig- 
 nation brought a flush to his cheeks which even the 
 dusk of evening could not hide. 
 
 " Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. 
 " Ay, ye may well redden, after sailin' away with 
 an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse 
 into fits." 
 
 The gentleman recovered his power of speech. 
 " My good girl," he said (and she was a full twenty 
 years older than his mother), "your joy at hear- 
 ing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous 
 queer and unseemly way of expressing itself. You 
 seem to forget that you, the lady's servant, are 
 addressing the lady's betrothed husband." 
 
 The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts 
 about her. 
 
 " Maybe so," she retorted. " 'Twould never 
 have happened in Somerset." 
 
 At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared sud- 
 denly from the other side of the mizzen. 
 
 " How dare you! " she cried. " How dare you 
 speak so to Master Kings well ! " 
 
 Anger quick, scathing anger rang in her 
 voice. Standing there in her short skirt, high, 
 beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked 
 like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and 
 bright beauty.
 
 Takes Much Upon Herself 271 
 
 " I am ashamed of you," she added ; and then, 
 turning quickly, she flung herself into Kingswell's 
 ever ready embrace. 
 
 Maggie Stone was flustered and spmewhat awed 
 by the sudden attack. She had not been spoken 
 to so for years and years. Would she resort to 
 tears again, or would she answer back? She was 
 jealous of the girl's love for Kingswell and yet 
 she had thanked God many times that that love had 
 been won by the young Englishman instead of 
 by the swarthy D'Antons. She sniffed, and mopped 
 her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she 
 changed her mind and bridled. 
 
 " What would the countess, your aunt, say to 
 such behaviour?" she asked. "Her who watched 
 over ye like a guardian angel in London town." 
 
 Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's 
 hands, faced the carping critic. 
 
 " And who turned me out of her house at the 
 last of it," she cried, scornfully. " Who is she, 
 or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? 
 And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress 
 and the gentleman who saved you from the knives 
 of the savages? Go back to the fort." 
 
 Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious 
 mistake, a mistake which, perhaps, would alien- 
 ate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a
 
 272 Brothers of Peril 
 
 pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep lad- 
 der which stood close to the starboard side of the 
 ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught in a 
 loop of rope that had not been properly stopped 
 up to its belay ing-pin. She lurched against the 
 line that ran from the break of the poop to the 
 bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right her- 
 self, and pitched over into the shadowed water 
 below. She did not even scream. 
 
 Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to 
 the side and jumped after the foolish old woman. 
 By that time the twilight had left the river. The 
 current carried him swiftly down-stream, close 
 under the side of the ship. The water was uncom- 
 fortably cold, and his thick clothes dragged at his 
 limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A dis- 
 turbance appeared on the surface of the stream a 
 few yards ahead. With a quick stroke or two, 
 he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin 
 shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with 
 fright. Both were pulled over the gunwale of the 
 Pelican not a moment too soon.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED 
 
 IT is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skip- 
 pers and crews of the good ship Plover and Mary 
 and Joyce, when the gray light of dawn disclosed 
 the fact that the Heart of the West had vanished 
 completely. What a rubbing of eyes must have 
 taken place! What a dropping of whiskered jaws 
 and ripping of sea oaths! 
 
 " Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner. 
 
 " Then where be her spars ? " inquired a mess- 
 mate. 
 
 " Cut an' run," suggested another. 
 
 " Then the devil must have been after her ! Ol' 
 Trowley'd run from nothin' else," replied the cook 
 of the Plover. 
 
 The captain of the Mary and Joyce scanned the 
 inner harbour and what he could see of the outer 
 bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon the 
 cliffs and hills and inland woods. 
 
 273
 
 274 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said 
 at last 
 
 No fishing was done that day. The neighbour- 
 ing bays and coves were searched, and even the 
 " River of Three Fires " was investigated, with 
 a deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift 
 current. That night the skippers of the two vessels 
 decided, over several hot glasses, that Wigwam 
 Harbour was no safe place for honest English 
 sailor men. Next morning found them sailing 
 northward in search of another haven from which 
 to reap the harvest of the great bay. 
 
 To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from 
 many miles around, for a great trade was going 
 on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, 
 Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest 
 in the port of St. John's on their way to England, 
 and so cross the ocean as man and wife, to the 
 bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though 
 the idea had not occurred to either of the lovers 
 before the old woman's outcry in the name of suf- 
 fering propriety, it was none the less to their liking 
 now that they had accepted it. 
 
 " And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the 
 girl. 
 
 " I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell,
 
 While the Spars Are Scraped 275 
 
 lifting the glowing face to his by a hand beneath 
 the rounded chin. 
 
 " Nor I, dear heart," she replied. 
 
 To the others of that wilderness the trading 
 seemed a greater matter than that romantic at- 
 tachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, 
 inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of 
 the settlers were bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, 
 marten, otter, musquash, and red, patched, and 
 black fox, to make up a cargo for the Heart of 
 the West. The price of an axe-head was twice its 
 weight in beaver skins. Even Maggie Stone, with 
 an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet 
 (the identical implement with which she had floored 
 D'Antons) for a beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley 
 had no finger in the trading. Sullen and silent, 
 he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind 
 him a brawny Beothic always stalked. 
 
 The storehouse of the fort was replenished from 
 the well-stocked pantries and lazaret of the ship. 
 Kingswell smiled grimly when, during the over- 
 hauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice 
 wines, cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady 
 mother had given to Master Trowley as a slight 
 mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. 
 He forced an admittance of these things from the 
 old rascal himself. It had been as he had hinted
 
 276 Brothers of Peril 
 
 to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful and 
 credulous lady that he had risked his life in her 
 son's defence, during an engagement with the sav- 
 ages; and she, grateful heart, had made such an 
 unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing 
 of the ship that, had the voyage run its anticipated 
 course, even a full load of fish would not have saved 
 her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, 
 Master Kingswell was far too happy for such 
 trivial matters to really anger him. 
 
 " The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the 
 last throw," he said to Beatrix, " and I staked my 
 heart, and won all that the world holds of joy. 
 Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his mis- 
 fortunes, poor devil. I can afford to be charitable 
 now." 
 
 They were seated on the grassy edge of the river 
 meadow, looking out at the anchored ship, where 
 sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping 
 the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested 
 in Trowley's underhand behaviour to Dame Kings- 
 well. As to his treachery toward Kingswell, to tell 
 the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief 
 for having sailed away and left her lover in the 
 wilderness. Such thoughts flitted pleasantly 
 through her mind.
 
 While the Spars Are Scraped 277 
 
 "When did you stake your heart?" she asked, 
 as if that were the core of the whole thing. 
 
 " I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied 
 Kings well, " but I was in Pierre d'Antons' com- 
 pany at the time, and and I was mightily sur- 
 prised to find Somersetshire people in this country. 
 Lord, but your eyes were bright." 
 
 " Do you mean that you do you mean that 
 it happened on the first day of your arrival at the 
 fort?" she queried. 
 
 " Surely," said he. 
 . " And you loved me then ? " 
 
 He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mari- 
 ners in the rigging of his ship. His memories 
 of those perilous days were fragrant as an English 
 rose-garden. 
 
 " Do you know," she whispered, " that, though 
 I felt sure I had made an impression on you then, 
 I began to doubt it later. You were so self-satisfied 
 that you shook my faith in my own powers to 
 charm." 
 
 He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. 
 Then, for a little while, they were silent. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, suddenly. " Did you really 
 love me that first day you came to the fort, or was 
 it just just surprise at seeing a a civilized girl 
 in so forsaken a place ? "
 
 278 Brothers of Peril 
 
 He considered the question gravely and at some 
 length. " I wanted to kill D'Antons," he answered, 
 presently, " and I would gladly have given ten 
 years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress 
 from your hands. Was that love, think you?" 
 
 " I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she 
 replied, brightly; but tears which she could not 
 explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying 
 water drifted the song of the men at work upon 
 the tall masts of the Heart of the West. 
 
 " In a week's time," said Kingswell, " she will 
 fill her sails for St. John's and then for home." 
 
 The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking 
 down, he saw that she was weeping. 
 
 " God grant that we find a parson in that har- 
 bour," he added. She nodded, and choked with a 
 sob she could not stifle. 
 
 "Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked. 
 
 " For those whom we must leave behind," she 
 whispered. 
 
 He had no answer to make to that. Together 
 they looked beyond the anchored ship and the 
 bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that held 
 the fate of the mad baronet so securely.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS 
 BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED 
 
 AT nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty- 
 second day of June, the bow of the Heart of the 
 West was towed around and pointed down-stream 
 by willing boats and canoes ; a light wind filled such 
 sails as were set, and the voyage was begun. Trig- 
 get fired a salute from a new gun which Kingswell 
 had given him from the armament of the ship. It 
 was answered by the barking of cannon and the 
 fluttering of sails. 
 
 Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kings- 
 well, and Maggie Stone, aft by the tiller, which 
 was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly 
 wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, 
 his great dreams were assured; and yet a pang 
 of homesickness went through the joy like the blade 
 of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clus- 
 tered people along the meadow and in the boats 
 
 grow dim, the faces of William Trigget and 
 
 279
 
 280 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear 
 to him. He shouted back to them in English and 
 in his native tongue, and waved his cap frantically. 
 The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam 
 around the wooded point, and meadow and stockade 
 and camp of wigwams vanished like a picture with- 
 drawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress 
 Westleigh. Then he walked forward to the break 
 of the poop, and blinked very hard at nothing in 
 particular in the belly of the maintopsail. 
 
 Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, 
 and the water changed its tint of amber for wind- 
 roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown 
 shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, 
 and azure uplands shone beyond their frowning 
 brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes of 
 foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever- 
 shifting, ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along 
 the fading cliffs white sea-birds circled and settled 
 like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged 
 around the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of 
 mist, and beating up again with quivering pinions. 
 
 Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master 
 upon himself. He was as good a deep-sea navi- 
 gator as any man on the whole width of the North 
 Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards 
 were swung around, and the stout bark headed due
 
 The Homeward Voyage 281 
 
 east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push the 
 tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace 
 and sheet, at the command of that gold-haired 
 youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh flut- 
 ter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and 
 lovely beyond power of description, shone yet more 
 brightly; and her cheeks, already flushed to clear 
 flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the 
 ship answered to his will, so would he answer to 
 her whim. It was a pleasant reflection to the lady; 
 and to realize it she called softly. Without a glance 
 at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to 
 her side. 
 
 The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful 
 harbour and brave little town of St. John's was 
 made without accident, though not without incident. 
 In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, 
 the stump of a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. 
 A day later, a large vessel that was evidently em- 
 ployed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest 
 in the business of the Heart of the West. She was 
 not a quarter of a mile distant when first sighted, 
 for a light fog was on the water. She flew no 
 flag, and changed her course and altered her speed 
 with sinister promptness. Kings well, and every 
 man of the ship's company, knew that pirates of 
 many nationalities infested those waters during
 
 282 Brothers of Peril 
 
 summer. The worst of the thieves were Turks; 
 and the fishing-ship or store-ship that was over- 
 hauled by those gentry usually lost more than its 
 cargo. Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards 
 also had a weakness for playing the part of the 
 bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide- 
 sailed craft, to the role of the fishhawk so unwill- 
 ingly played by the merchantmen. Happily for 
 Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore 
 and to leeward. Both watches were piped up by 
 Tom Bent. The gunners went to their quarters. 
 Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining 
 masts and yards. The brave little ship answered 
 willingly to the pressure, and her cutwater broke 
 the flanks of the waves into sibilant foam. 
 
 A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix 
 and her old maid, in the seclusion of that snug 
 cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, 
 wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains 
 across the thick glass of the after-port (as if fear- 
 ing that the eagle glance of one of the pirates 
 might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then 
 devoted herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix com- 
 pleted her toilet, threw a cloak over her shoulders, 
 and climbed the companion. She joined Kings well 
 by the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and
 
 The Homeward Voyage 283 
 
 with a composure that took no heed of the sailor 
 at the helm, watched the chase with interest. 
 
 " They outsail us," she said, presently. 
 
 Kingswell nodded. " But she'll never get near 
 us on that course," he replied. " She is for heading 
 us off, and getting to windward. If she gets to 
 windward of us Lord, but I scarce think she 
 will." 
 
 He said a word of preparation to the man at 
 the tiller, and then gave a few quick orders from 
 the break of the poop. In half a minute the Heart 
 of the West headed out on an easy tack. When 
 every sail was drawing to his liking, he returned 
 to the girl. 
 
 " How glorious ! " she cried. " A good horse, 
 a singing pack, and an old fox make but slow sport 
 compared to this." 
 
 " We are the fox on this hunting morning," 
 smiled Kingswell. 
 
 " With teeth," she hinted. 
 
 He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was 
 shouldering the wind on the new course. He 
 looked at the girl. 
 
 " Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, " and 
 soon we'll be gnashing them." 
 
 Though the Heart of the West sailed well, to 
 windward, the big craft astern sailed even better.
 
 284 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing blue 
 water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure 
 coast to leeward, made a fine picture under the 
 white sun. As the stranger drew near and nearer, 
 excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old 
 Trowley bawled to be set free, that he might not 
 die in the sail-locker like a rat in a hole. Torn 
 Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt 
 an inch shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and pow- 
 der, and was for opening fire at an impossible range. 
 Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, 
 and took her forward to a place of greater safety 
 in the men's quarters. 
 
 Along either side of the after-cabin of the Heart 
 of the West ran a narrow passage. Each passage 
 ended in a blind port, and behind each port crouched 
 a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing 
 ship. Now Kingswell blessed the day that a youth- 
 ful love of warlike gear and a heart for adventure 
 had led him to add these pieces to the armament of 
 his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, 
 how Master Trowley had growled at the delay 
 caused by getting the great guns aboard and par- 
 titioning off the passage. Even his mother had 
 urged him to put more faith in the great ship which 
 the king was so gracious as to send to Newfounde 
 Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet.
 
 The Homeward Voyage 285 
 
 But Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his 
 way; and now he thanked the gods of war for it. 
 
 Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their 
 models and rigging and the laws of nature would 
 allow. They went about often on ever shortening 
 tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it 
 is safe to say that her seamanship was no better. 
 Suddenly she luffed until her sails quivered, and 
 from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with 
 inner cores of flame. Both shots flew high, and 
 fell ahead of the quarry in brief spouts of torn 
 water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of 
 the merchantman opened up, and the sinister muz- 
 zles of the guns were run out with a gust of Eng- 
 lish cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed 
 defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and 
 clung to the leaping waves. 
 
 Kings well felt the deck jump under his feet. 
 His pulses leaped with the good planks. " Hit ! " 
 he cried and sure enough, one of the enemy's 
 upper spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tot- 
 tered desperately, and then swooped down on the 
 clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour later 
 the Heart of the West was spinning along on her 
 old course, and far astern the stranger lay to and 
 nursed her wound. 
 
 Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows
 
 286 Brothers of Peril 
 
 opened in the sheer brown face of the cliffs, and 
 the people of the Heart of the West caught a 
 glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. 
 Then the rocky portals seemed to close, and the 
 spray flew like smoke along the unbroken ramparts. 
 The ship was put about, and again the magic en- 
 trance opened and shut. 
 
 " I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. 
 " Ye needn't wait for no duff-headed pilot." 
 
 So the stout ship went 'round again, w r ith a 
 brisk shouting of men at the braces and a booming 
 of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the 
 sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and 
 the battery on Signal Hill. She raced at the tow- 
 ering cliff as if she would try to overthrow it with 
 her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught 
 his breath. Beatrix looked away, so fearful was 
 the sight of the unbroken rock that seemed to swim 
 toward them with a voice of thunder and the smok- 
 ing surf along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom 
 Bent were mad. But the boatswain gripped the 
 big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked 
 an eye aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, 
 of a sudden, the narrow passage of green water, 
 spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the 
 walls of rock slid aside and let them in.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 IN THE MERRY CITY 
 
 THE Heart of the West was boarded by a lieu- 
 tenant of infantry, inside the Narrows, and was 
 quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the 
 great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let 
 go. The lieutenant welcomed Master Kingswell 
 in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress 
 Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little 
 respect will a subaltern sometimes speak of his 
 superior into safe ears) would never have allowed 
 his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that 
 the new arrival carried such a passenger. 
 
 " But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, " so, 
 after all, he'd blink his old eyes at you unmoved. 
 These sajlors, ecod, are not the worshippers of 
 beauty that the poets would have us believe." 
 
 He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform 
 and powdered hair. Beatrix shot a glance at Kings- 
 well, who seemed in no wise conscious of the dim- 
 ness of his own attire and the rents in the silk 
 
 287
 
 288 Brothers of Peril 
 
 facings of his coat. Then she smiled upon the 
 soldier. 
 
 " Both the army and navy have my esteem," she 
 said, " but my particular fancy is for the Church." 
 
 The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. " Say you 
 so?" he cried. "And to think, mistress, that I 
 refused to take Holy Orders, despite the combined 
 persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the 
 Bishop of Bath. Stab me, but why did not my 
 heart give me a hint of your preference? " 
 
 " Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested 
 Kingswell. 
 
 " Ay, we have a parson a ranting old mis- 
 sionary," replied the lieutenant. 
 
 " He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, " so long 
 as he can read the marriage service." 
 
 " Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell. 
 
 The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from 
 the one to the other. He was not much older than 
 Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " You have a story," he said, " with which I 
 hope you will honour us in the governor's house. 
 A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled 
 good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. " But d'ye 
 know," he added, gazing at Mistress Westleigh,
 
 In the Merry City 289 
 
 " I had quite set my heart on it that you two were 
 brother and sister." 
 
 The governor received them in his best coat, 
 with one foot in a boot, and the other swathed 
 to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was 
 of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many 
 inclement winds and darkened by high living. His 
 voice was of a rancorous quality, as if he had frayed 
 it by too much shouting through fogs and against 
 gales. His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, 
 and his eyes not unlike those of a new- jigged cod- 
 fish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for his 
 place as king's representative. He led Mistress 
 Beatrix to a chair with such grace as he could 
 command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box to 
 Master Kingswell. Then he called for refresh- 
 ments. The lieutenant made himself at home be- 
 side the lady, and waited upon her with wine and 
 cakes. When the servants were gone and the door 
 closed, Kingswell stated his name and degree. 
 
 " Let me shake your hand again, young sir," 
 cried his Excellency, extending an unsteady hand. 
 ' Your honoured father dined and wined me more 
 than once in his great house in Bristol, ay, 
 and treated the poor sailor like a peer of the 
 realm." 
 
 Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave
 
 290 Brothers of Peril 
 
 a brief account of Sir Ralph Westleigh's and Mis- 
 tress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, and 
 of the baronet's death. He did not mention the 
 fact that the fort was still inhabited, nor did he 
 give a very definite idea of its whereabouts. It 
 was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered 
 plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He 
 mentioned the brief engagement with the buccaneer. 
 He told of his betrothal to Mistress Westleigh, 
 and of their anxiety to be married immediately. 
 The governor was deeply affected by the story of 
 Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He murmured 
 an oath. " And the day was," he said, " that not 
 a duke in England was more looked up to than that 
 same baronet of Somerset. Well do I recall the 
 pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh ay, 
 the young lady's mother bowed to me in Hyde 
 Park. Only once had she met me, and that in a 
 crush to which I'd been invited through my com- 
 mander. And she was as beautiful as she was gra- 
 cious, sir. 'Twas after her death that Sir Ralph 
 threw over his ballast, poor devil." 
 
 Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter 
 of alarms and loneliness. 
 
 " They were bitter years for the daughter," he 
 said, softly. " Motherless, and with a father whom 
 she loved letting slip his old pride and honour day
 
 In the Merry City 291 
 
 by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with 
 fortitude, sir, I can assure you." 
 
 " Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the 
 governor, with a gleam in his staring eyes. 
 
 Now fate would have it at that time the only 
 divine in the great island, the Reverend Thomas 
 Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of 
 St. John's, on a preaching tour among the English 
 fishermen in Conception Bay. He might be back 
 in a day's time; he was more likely not to return 
 within the week. 
 
 " In the meantime," said the honest governor, 
 " my house is at Mistress Westleigh's service. Let 
 her send for her maid and her boxes. My good 
 housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, 
 Master Kingswell, but we'll cheer this God-for- 
 saken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a touch 
 of gaiety." 
 
 His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and 
 for eight days the little settlement gave itself over 
 to merrymaking. There were dances in the gov- 
 ernor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the 
 only lady. There were great dinners, during which 
 Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right and Kingswell 
 on his left. There were inspections of the fort, 
 boating parties on the harbour, and outings among
 
 292 Brothers of Peril 
 
 the woods and natural gardens that graced the val- 
 ley at the head of the beautiful basin. 
 
 The beauty and graciousness of Mistress West- 
 leigh, and the knowledge of her loyalty to her 
 father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude 
 village. From the governor to the youngest sailor 
 lad, every man in the harbour was her humble and 
 devoted servant. 
 
 Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and 
 adventurers, she was always merry. The main 
 street along the water-front took on a light of 
 distant England did she but appear in it for a min- 
 ute. The three officers of the garrison swore that 
 they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade 
 on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she 
 eased, with tears, the grief for her father's fate, 
 which all the junketing and gaiety but seemed to 
 uncover. 
 
 On the eighth day after the arrival of the Heart 
 of the West in the harbour of St. John's, the parson 
 returned from his preaching among the boisterous 
 fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head 
 at the state in which he found his home flock; for 
 he was of that gloomy persuasion known as low 
 church, and held little with frivolity. But, after 
 meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far 
 as to attempt a pun on his willingness to marry
 
 In the Merry City 293 
 
 her. The sally of wit was received by the lady 
 with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his 
 austerity so far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, 
 and call him a sly dog. 
 
 The ceremony took place in the little church 
 behind the governor's house ; and, after it was over, 
 his Excellency, the parson, the officers of the garri- 
 son, the merchants, the cap'tains of the ships, and 
 many more, accompanied the happy couple aboard 
 the Heart of the West, where sound wines were 
 drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the 
 commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the 
 merchants, and the forts flew bunting, as if for 
 a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon fare- 
 wells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed 
 the Heart of the West down the harbour and 
 through the Narrows.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND 
 AGAIN PUTS TO SEA 
 
 THE wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, 
 brown barren, gray marsh, and black wood, which 
 had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable 
 to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. 
 With the return of summer, the dark adventurer 
 and the Beothic girl deserted their inland retreat, 
 and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts 
 far. into the Atlantic. The crown of that cape 
 affords an uninterrupted view to seaward and north 
 and south across the waters of two great bays. A 
 fire at night, or a column of smoke in the day, 
 glowing or streaming upward from that vantage 
 place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing 
 ship at a distance of many miles. 
 
 The journey proved a long and trying one, 
 through swamps and barrens, and over rock-tumbled 
 knolls. Streams were forded, lakes circumambu- 
 lated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts. 
 
 294
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 295 
 
 Through it all, the native girl, Miwandi, kept a 
 brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, however, 
 was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy 
 at times. The hardships of that wild existence had 
 begun to tell on his body, and the loneliness to 
 fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress West- 
 leigh had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving 
 only a mean desire for the salve of revenge with 
 which to soothe his injured pride. He would 
 wound her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear 
 oppressed him that his men might have forgotten 
 his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the 
 two seasons of silence, to continue their cruising 
 of those northern waters throughout June and July, 
 as he had commanded. But that doubt only trou- 
 bled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his 
 subordinate buccaneers of the Cristobal was not to 
 be questioned seriously, for it had been tested in 
 many tight places. Comradeship often forms as 
 trusty ties between the hearts of pirates as between 
 the hearts of honest gentlemen. Once grown be- 
 yond the temptations of greed and treachery, it 
 is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for 
 their messmates. 
 
 It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck 
 of the Cristobal (with Miwandi, of course), and 
 to appear, some fine day, before the little fort of
 
 296 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, 
 the buildings to the torch, and to carry the English 
 beauty away with him. He felt that his passion 
 for the proud lady might be easily and pleasantly 
 refired. But he made no mention of Mistress West- 
 leigh to Miwandi, the Beothic girl. 
 
 After more than a week of hard travelling, 
 the two ascended the wooded ridge which runs 
 seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim 
 cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set 
 up their lodge. At the extremity of the headland, 
 high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and nod- 
 dies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones 
 that lay about. Completed, it looked like an altar 
 reared by some benighted priesthood to the gods 
 of the wind and the sea. But no such thougHt 
 occurred to its architect. His case was too des- 
 perate to allow his mind to indulge in such whim- 
 sical fancies. 
 
 While the woman went in quest of food fish, 
 flesh, or fowl, what did it matter which ? the 
 man gathered wood and piled it near the queer 
 hearth. He worked without intermission until Mi- 
 wandi returned from her foraging with a string 
 of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a mod- 
 est fire within the rough walls of his furnace, and 
 helped the girl clean and cook the fish. By that
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 297 
 
 time the glow of the afternoon was centred behind 
 the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the 
 sea; but as yet the atmosphere held no suggestion 
 of dusk. No sail broke the wide expanse of dark 
 blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'- 
 east a whale breached and blew its little fountain 
 of spray across the still line of the horizon. D'An- 
 tons and Miwandi noted these things as they ate, 
 but made no comment upon them. 
 
 For several days after the arrival of the two 
 upon the overseeing headland, D'Antons made no 
 other use of his furnace than for the cooking of 
 meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for 
 the walls protected the flame from the ever-flying 
 winds that prevailed over that exposed spot. The 
 adventurer knew that he was early for the Cristobal. 
 Several sails were detected; but of them the only 
 heed taken was the precaution of blanketing the 
 little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The French- 
 man did not desire a visit from fishermen of any 
 nationality whatever. He might find it difficult 
 to explain his presence in so unfavourable a spot 
 for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they 
 would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, 
 what reason could he give for wishing to stay in his 
 cheerless camp? So he lay low and watched the
 
 298 Brothers of Peril 
 
 passing of more than one stout craft without a 
 sign. 
 
 The time arrived when he must set his signals, 
 despite the risk of attracting unwelcome visitors. 
 So he closed the front of the furnace with a 
 boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped 
 with damp moss and punk, and then laid a large, 
 flat stone over the opening in the top of the unique 
 structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed 
 a column of dense smoke to issue into the air, 
 stream aloft and scatter in the wind. By replacing 
 the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding that 
 the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let 
 the smoke stream up, uninterrupted. The signal- 
 ling would only be resorted to when a vessel, which 
 might possibly be the Cristobal, should be sighted. 
 When darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die 
 down. A night signal was unnecessary, as the 
 Cristobal, should she keep the tryst at all, was sure 
 to make an examination of the cape by daylight. 
 D'Antons' last orders had been strictly and par- 
 ticularly to that effect. 
 
 A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was 
 kept by the fugitives on the brow of the cape, and 
 the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times 
 without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, 
 attracted by the smoke (which was due to D'An-
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 299 
 
 tons' tardy realization that the approaching ship 
 was not the Cristobal) altered her course, sailed 
 close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. 
 D'Antons and Miwandi had just enough time, with 
 not a minute to spare, to roll up their wigwam 
 and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most 
 valuable belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of 
 tangled spruces and firs. The boat's crew was conv- 
 posed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from 
 suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow 
 of the promontory with fine hardihood, but once 
 there did little but examine the marks where the 
 lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow 
 the queer fireplace. They believed that structure 
 to be an altar, built to the glory of some unortho- 
 dox god. Then they retraced their perilous way 
 to the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back 
 to the ship. D'Antons stole from his retreat and 
 crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a glow 
 of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on 
 her northward course. 
 
 Another week drifted along, and hope wavered 
 in the buccaneer heart. His gloomy moods began 
 to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged 
 him to return to the inland rivers to make peace 
 with her people to cease his unprofitable star- 
 ing at the sea.
 
 300 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " The sorrow of the great salt water has entered 
 your heart," she said, " and the moaning of it has 
 deafened your ears to my voice." 
 
 He did not turn his eyes from the undulations 
 of the gray horizon. " Would you have me rot 
 in this place for the remainder of my life?" he 
 asked, harshly, in her language. 
 
 The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and 
 reproved her heart for the image of a god it had 
 set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from its 
 inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim 
 symbol of hate; she pressed her face to the coarse 
 herbage, and tore the sod with her fingers. 
 
 " Miwandi ! Come to me, little one," cried the 
 man from the edge of the cliff. 
 
 Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest 
 smoke. She sprang up and ran to him. He drew 
 her to his side, and with his right hand pointed 
 southward across the glinting deep. 
 
 "The Cristobal!" he cried. "Good God, I'll 
 stake my life on it ! " 
 
 So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of 
 those unmistakable topsails that his selfish affection 
 for the woman lighted again. He pressed his lips 
 to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple 
 creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss. 
 
 While the gray flake of sail expanded on the
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 301 
 
 horizon, Pierre d'Antons and the woman hurriedly 
 and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, lit 
 and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and 
 rotten bark. The thick pillar of smoke arose like 
 a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. Miwandi 
 busied herself with breaking the wood to the re- 
 quired length and carrying damp moss. For sev- 
 eral minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend in 
 an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for 
 a few seconds, let it rise again, broke it again, and 
 again let it stream aloft, uninterrupted. He had 
 signalled his name according to the code of the 
 Cristobal. 
 
 The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager 
 eyes of the watchers on the cape. North, east, and 
 south there was no other sail in sight. At last three 
 flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. 
 The question was read instantly by D'Antons, who 
 returned to his fire and interrupted the stream of 
 smoke five time in quick succession. The translation 
 of that was " All's well. You may approach with- 
 out danger." 
 
 A message of congratulation appeared promptly 
 against the bellying foresail of the Cristobal; and 
 the watchers saw the rolls of white foam gleaming 
 like wool under the forging of the bow. 
 
 D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the
 
 302 Brothers of Peril 
 
 Cristobal. Miwandi was received without ques- 
 tion. The acting commander of the ship was a 
 grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva, 
 a fellow steeped in crime and uncertain of tem- 
 per, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion for 
 D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness 
 performed by the Frenchman years before, in the 
 town of Panama. 
 
 Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and 
 ready for the high seas again. He asked no ques- 
 tions concerning his adventures until more than one 
 bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's 
 travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the 
 best the cabin lockers contained. Miwandi, too, 
 was reclothed; and the beauty and softness of the 
 silks that were presented to her fairly turned her 
 little head. She did not know that the fair French 
 lady for whom they had been made, in gay Paris, 
 and who had worn them only three months ago, was 
 somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between 
 the Bahaman reefs. She knew only that the tex- 
 ture and colours delighted her skin and her eyes. 
 So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the 
 finery, toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar 
 fingers. 
 
 In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his 
 friend to close the door. He had consumed a soup,
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 303 
 
 and was still engaged with the wine. Silva returned 
 to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push 
 on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be 
 sure that the door you considered fastened is fas- 
 tened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the table 
 and their heads close together, the more salient 
 incidents of D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness 
 were rehearsed and keenly listened to. Silva dis- 
 played a prodigious indignation at the story of the 
 captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress 
 Westleigh. At word of Sir Ralph's death (and 
 the murder became a desperate duel in the telling), 
 a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. 
 As to what he heard of Kingswell ah, but oaths 
 in two languages were quite inadequate for the 
 expression of his feelings. 
 
 " We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel and 
 the gizzard as well," said he, and drank off his 
 wine. 
 
 " Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, 
 darkly. 
 
 Silva nodded, with a sinister leer. 
 
 " So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade 
 into everlasting damnation," he said. 
 
 " Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in 
 the attack," warned the captain. 
 
 So the Cristobal headed northward, and the evil-
 
 304 Brothers of Peril 
 
 looking rascals of her crew were informed that 
 the morrow would bring them some work to limber 
 their muscles. The information was received with 
 cheers, in which hearty English voices were not 
 lacking. 
 
 However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape 
 of the Heart of the West, turned the danger away 
 from the little fort. 
 
 " She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, 
 when he sighted the ship. The old fever awoke 
 in his blood. He longed for the old excitement. 
 
 " Give chase," he ordered. " The fort can well 
 do without the honour of our attentions for a little 
 while." 
 
 So the chase was carried on, as has been described 
 in a previous chapter, and went merrily enough for 
 the Cristobal until the unexpected shot from the 
 stern of the quarry brought down her foretopmast 
 and its weight of sail. But before that had hap- 
 pened, D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new 
 clothes and a great hat, marked Bernard Kingswell 
 on the poop of the Heart of the West. He cursed 
 like a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship 
 was crippled. 
 
 " The fort may rot of old age in the midst of 
 its desolation," he cried to Silva, " for what I 
 would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead."
 
 D'Antons Again Puts to Sea 305 
 
 A few days later, with their spars repaired, they 
 picked up a small fishing-boat, and learned from 
 the skipper that a great ship from the north had 
 entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing 
 the virtue of precaution, they impressed the master 
 and crew and scuttled the little vessel. Then, with 
 admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far 
 to seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that 
 hospitable port.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS 
 THAN LOVE 
 
 THE dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, 
 and together they looked back and waved farewell. 
 Flags answered them from the battery above the 
 cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed 
 into his eyes with so radiant and tender a smile 
 that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at the tiller, 
 he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and 
 lips. 
 
 " Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no 
 more. 
 
 Both were brave in marriage finery, she in a 
 pearl gown of brocaded silk, a scarlet cloak lined 
 with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he in buff 
 and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant 
 of St. John's. 
 
 They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to 
 the brown and purple rocks beautified by the sun- 
 light and crystal air. " Homeward bound," she 
 
 306
 
 Other Matters Than Love 307 
 
 whispered, happily, and turned her face from the 
 mellowing coast of the wilderness to the wide east. 
 
 Together they walked forward to the break of 
 the high deck. A fair wind bellied the sails. The 
 tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like polished 
 metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and 
 cleanest shirts (in honour of the occasion), went 
 about their duties briskly. The mates wore their 
 side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the 
 gaiety of the days ashore still in their hearts. Not 
 a soul was below save the cook (who sorted pro- 
 visions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who 
 sulked in her mistress's cabin because she had not 
 been asked to act as bridesmaid), and old Trowley, 
 with wrists and legs in irons and a dawning re- 
 pentance in his sullen blood. 
 
 An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard 
 ladder from the waist, and stood beside Master and 
 Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, 
 which had been made to his shape by the garrison 
 tailor in the days preceding the marriage. A sword 
 was at his belt; lace hung at his wrists; his dark 
 hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His 
 tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement 
 passed and the adventures anticipated. Only the 
 dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of his 
 actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though
 
 308 Brothers of Peril 
 
 he had been named " dreamer " by his people, he 
 gave promise now of a life of deeds rather than 
 of dreams. 
 
 " Do you mourn the little stockade and the great 
 river, lad ? " queried Kingswell, laying a hand on 
 the boy's shoulder. 
 
 Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced 
 knowingly aloft. " Why should I mourn them ? " 
 he asked. " Am I not bound for castles and great 
 houses, for books in number as the leaves of the 
 birch-tree, and for villages filled all day with war- 
 riors, and with ladies almost as fair as Mistress 
 Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see 
 horses, greater than caribou, bearing gentlemen 
 upon their backs? Then why would you have me 
 mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. 
 My fathers were brave and wise, and led their 
 warriors to a hundred victories; but they were 
 murdered by their own people. I care not for such 
 a country." 
 
 " True, lad," replied Kingswell, " and yet, even 
 in glorious England, you may find ingratitude as 
 black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens 
 have been guilty of ingratitude." 
 
 Beatrix patted the moralist's arm. 
 
 " Why think of it now ? " she said, gently, " and 
 why fill the dear lad with doubt? Only if he climbs
 
 Other Matters Than Love 309 
 
 high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain soldier, he 
 shall never lack the protection of such humble 
 friends as ourselves." 
 
 Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on 
 the larboard bow. Kingswell and Ouenwa went 
 forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of 
 the rank of chief gunner) was already there, peer- 
 ing away under the lift of the jibs. The second 
 mate was with him. 
 
 " A large vessel," remarked Kingswell. 
 
 " Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," re- 
 plied Bent. He was too intent on gazing ahead 
 to see the question in the captain's face. But the 
 mate saw it and answered it. 
 
 " She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her 
 for'ard riggin'," said he, " an' like enough she 
 thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of rel- 
 ish. Then he remembered Beatrix, and a shadow 
 darkened his eyes for a moment. " Pipe both 
 watches," he said, quietly. " Arm all hands. Clear 
 decks for action. Master Gunner, you must fight 
 your barkers to-day for more than the glory of 
 England." 
 
 He returned to his wife and told her of the 
 menace. She heard the news with an inward sick?
 
 310 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear 
 was for him. 
 
 " Promise me that you will go to our cabin when 
 I give the word," he asked. 
 
 She nodded and smiled wistfully. " Your obedi- 
 ent, humble wife, my lord," she whispered, with a 
 brave attempt at gaiety. 
 
 He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders 
 and kissed her lips. He felt them tremble against 
 his. 
 
 " I must help with the preparations, dear heart," 
 he murmured, and hurried away. He consulted the 
 mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability of beat- 
 ing back for St. John's. The mariners shook their 
 heads. They held that the Heart of the West could 
 make a better fight on her present course ; and that 
 the battle would be decided, one way or another, 
 before the garrison could send them any help. As 
 if to confirm their views, the wind freshened to 
 such a degree, and held so fair astern, that to beat 
 to windward would require all hands at the sails, 
 and put gunnery out of the question. 
 
 " Like enough they be double our strength in 
 men," said Tom Bent, " but we equals 'em in guns 
 and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that." 
 
 So the Heart of the West held on her course 
 under a press of canvas.
 
 Other Matters Than Love 311 
 
 After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked to- 
 gether for some time, they went forward, hand in 
 hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called 
 the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, 
 stripped to their breeches and shirts in readiness 
 for the approaching encounter, looked up, and such 
 as wore caps doffed them respectfully. 
 
 " My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that 
 rang clear above the stir of wind and wave and 
 tugging cordage, " but this morning you made 
 merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, 
 you will risk your lives in defending your ship and 
 me from that pirate whom we have already en- 
 countered. My husband, your captain, like a 
 true-bred English sailor, is already sure of victory. 
 A generous mariner, he has promised me the prize; 
 and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' time, 
 my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. 
 Not a penny of her price shall go to owner or 
 captain ; but all into the pockets of this brave com- 
 pany. And should any man fall in the encounter, 
 I pledge my word that those dependent upon him 
 shall lack nothing that money can give them dur- 
 ing the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, 
 for God and for England." 
 
 She looked down at them, smiling divinely.
 
 312 Brothers of Peril 
 
 " And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful 
 seaman. 
 
 Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips 
 bawled her name; and great, toil-seared hands were 
 brandished, and stark blades gleamed in the sun- 
 light. 
 
 " God bless you, lady," they roared. 
 
 She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips 
 with both dainty hands. 
 
 "God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, 
 softly; and the nearer of the loyal mariners saw 
 the tears shimmering beneath her lashes. 
 
 The Heart of the West held on her course, break- 
 ing the waves in fountains from her forging bow. 
 The Cristobal raced down upon her with the wind 
 square abeam. It was evidently her intention to 
 cross the merchantman's bows and rake her with 
 a broadside. 
 
 Aboard the Heart of the West every man was at 
 his post, and the matches were like pale stars in 
 the hands of the gunners. The second mate was 
 on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The 
 first mate stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the 
 poop, fore and aft. Each measured and calculated 
 the brisk approach of the Cristobal with unwinking 
 eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead 
 and the speed of the wind.
 
 Other Matters Than Love 313 
 
 Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning 
 over in the press of the half -gale. It was evident 
 to Kingswell that she would pass across his bows 
 within a distance of a hundred yards, unless some- 
 thing was done to prevent it. He spoke quietly 
 to the men at the tiller, and called an order to 
 the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he 
 gave the signal. The tiller was pushed over, the 
 yards were hauled around, and the good ship swung 
 to the north and took the wind on her larboard 
 beam. Now the vessels leaned on the same course, 
 and were not two hundred yards apart. Almost 
 at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, 
 and the challenging shouts of men mingled with 
 the roaring of the little cannonades. The smoke 
 from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a 
 stifling cloud, upon the enemy. The Cristobal fell 
 off before the wind in an unaccountable manner. 
 The Heart of the West luffed, in the hope of bring- 
 ing her heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the 
 manoeuvre could not be accomplished, and flew 
 about on her old course. 
 
 "Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A 
 cheer rang along the decks and penetrated the cab- 
 ins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked 
 God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his man-
 
 31 4 Brothers of Peril 
 
 acled wrists against the bulkhead, roared to be cast 
 loose that he might bear a hand in the fight. 
 
 From that first exchange of round-shot, the 
 Heart of the West escaped without hurt, owing 
 to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the 
 pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent 
 their missiles high between the upper spars of the 
 merchantman. The Cristobal, however, was hulled 
 by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a 
 third ; for, just as her guns were elevated to harm- 
 lessness by the list of the deck, so were the mer- 
 chantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list 
 of hers. 
 
 Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and 
 perfectly trimmed sails gave her over her enemy, 
 the Heart of the West raced after the buccaneer. 
 Passing close astern, she raked her with her three 
 larboard guns. Running on, and slanting across 
 the wind's course more and more, she presently 
 had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter 
 target of the Cristobal's starboard side. The range 
 was middling; but, even so, the gunners sent up 
 a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings and 
 sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by 
 a tottering of high sails above the Cristobal, and 
 with a flapping and rending, the mizzenmast fell 
 forward and stripped the main of three of her yards.
 
 Other Matters Than Love 315 
 
 Now the disabled, tillerless Cristobal, kept before 
 the wind by a great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks 
 were cluttered with snarled wreckage. Half a 
 dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander 
 and Master Silva were mad with rage at the un- 
 expected turn of events. 
 
 Aboard the Heart of the West, Ouenwa had just 
 pointed out to Kingswell the dashing figure of 
 Pierre d'Antons. 
 
 " I take it that this is his last play," remarked 
 the young captain, with a grim smile. 
 
 For another hour the merchantman sailed about 
 the pirate at her will, pouring broadside after broad- 
 side into hull and rigging, and sustaining but little 
 damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were 
 exchanged. Two of Kingswell's men were 
 wounded, and were promptly carried below, where 
 their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress 
 Kingswell and Maggie Stone. 
 
 In a lull of the firing, the cook came running 
 to the poop, with word that Trowley was in a fair 
 way to make matchwood of his surroundings. 
 
 "What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell. 
 
 " He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," 
 replied the cook. Kingswell considered the matter, 
 with a calculating eye on the enemy. " Cast him
 
 31 6 Brothers of Peril 
 
 loose," said he, " and give him a chance to prove 
 himself an English sailor man." 
 
 Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from 
 the Cristobal struck the teakwood rail of the Heart 
 of the West amidships. A flying splinter whirred 
 past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and 
 bawled a threat across the rocking water. The 
 men at the guns welcomed him with laughter and 
 cheers. 
 
 " Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one. 
 
 Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and 
 met him at the top of the ladder. Trowley looked 
 guiltily this way and that. 
 
 " I have let you up, my man," said the captain, 
 " that you may bear a hand in the fight. I am will- 
 ing to forget your knaveries of the past, and re- 
 member only your actions of to-day." 
 
 Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met 
 Kingswell's. 
 
 " You can see what we have done to the enemy," 
 said the other. " But I am in no mind to break her 
 up with this everlasting cannonading. What would 
 you suggest ? " 
 
 Trowley straightened his great shoulders and 
 lifted his head. " Lay her aboard, sir," said he, 
 " an' make fast."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 OVER THE SIDE 
 
 WITH a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling 
 of spars, the merchantman's larboard bow scraped 
 along the enemy's side. Boarding-irons were 
 thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a 
 yell, the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, 
 and hurled themselves upon the mongrels who clus- 
 tered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the 
 air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met 
 with a softer resistance. Screams of rage and pain, 
 and shouts of grim exultation, rang above the con- 
 flict. 
 
 Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the 
 thickest of the press, and laid about him with such 
 desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the buc- 
 caneers hustled each other to get out of his way. 
 
 Kingswell, in the waist of the Cristobal, en- 
 countered D'Antons, and claimed him for his own. 
 As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began the 
 story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the wilder-
 
 318 Brothers of Peril 
 
 ness. Kingswell heard it without comment. The 
 tumult about them gradually subsided, as man after 
 man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. 
 Sail was shortened on both vessels, and the victors, 
 sound and wounded alike, gathered about the two 
 swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of 
 the watchers. The rough fellows understood that 
 their captain had an old score to settle with the 
 buccaneer. They were fascinated by the lightning 
 play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of 
 foot and hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons 
 snarled an insulting taunt at his adversary, they 
 cursed softly. When their captain pricked the 
 pirate's shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration 
 went through them. So intent were they on the 
 fight that they failed to notice the approach of 
 Miwandi, the Beothic woman, until she was in their 
 midst. But they became aware of her presence 
 when she screamed with rage and flung herself 
 upon Kingswell. 
 
 " Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a 
 futile grab at the mad figure. 
 
 Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon col- 
 ouring, wrenched himself clear of her, avoided the 
 slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged 
 through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched 
 forward so suddenly and heavily that the rapier
 
 Over the Side 319 
 
 was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The 
 hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out 
 between D'Antons' shoulders a full two-thirds of 
 its length. He sprawled on his face, gulping his 
 last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon 
 knocked spasmodically on the red planking of the 
 deck. The woman, stunned with grief, was led 
 away by two of the seamen. 
 
 By the time the duel was over, the long, northern 
 twilight was drawing to a close. The decks of the 
 Cristobal were cleared of the dead bodies and the 
 wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was 
 partially repaired ; a few sails were set ; and the shat- 
 tered tiller was replaced. The prisoners (wounded 
 and sound together, they did not number a dozen) 
 were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of 
 seven, under the first mate's command, went aboard 
 the Cristobal. Then the boarding-irons were cast 
 loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to 
 a safe distance. 
 
 Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove 
 to comfort her, but failed signally. Her position 
 was evident enough to every one who had seen her 
 frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter 
 with Kingswell. Beatrix guessed the story. Her 
 face burned at remembrance of her one-time com- 
 panionship with D'Antons of the days before
 
 320 Brothers of Peril 
 
 she fully knew his nature, and often sat at cards 
 and chess with him in the little cabin in the wilder- 
 ness and of the days before that, when he was 
 one of her admirers in London. Even now she did 
 not know him for her father's murderer. Kings- 
 well had decided to keep that to himself, until some 
 day in the happy future, when the wilderness should 
 be fainter than the memory of a dream in his wife's 
 mind. 
 
 For three days the ships kept within sight of each 
 other. On the fourth, a gale of wind drove them 
 apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the prize, 
 for she had received no serious damage to her hull 
 in the bitter encounter that had befallen on his 
 wedding-day. 
 
 Aboard the Heart of the West the wounded im- 
 proved daily; the prisoners cursed their irons and 
 their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope with- 
 out a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, pro- 
 moted from imprisonment to the position of second 
 mate, worked like a Trojan, and Beatrix and Ber- 
 nard sped the hours in the high and golden atmos- 
 phere of love and youth. The Beothic woman, how- 
 ever, felt no response in her heart to the stir and 
 happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a 
 desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was 
 weary of the sequence of day and night, night and
 
 Over the Side 321 
 
 day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, with- 
 out rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were 
 deaf to words of comfort, even when they were 
 spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She 
 asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, 
 at sight of her lover's danger, she accepted the will 
 of her pitiless gods without signs of either anger 
 or wonder. 
 
 One still night, when the waves rocked under 
 the faint light of the stars without any breaking 
 of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to swell 
 the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was 
 startled from his reveries by a splash close along- 
 side. He called to the officer of the watch, who 
 had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. 
 They scanned the sea on all sides and listened in- 
 tently. They saw only the black, vanishing crests. 
 They heard only the whispering of the ship on her 
 way. 
 
 " A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with 
 him. 
 
 In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered 
 to be empty, no trace of her was found alow or 
 aloft. 
 
 The remaining days of the passage slipped by 
 without any especial incident. Winds served. 
 Seas were considerate of the good ship's safety,
 
 322 Brothers of Peril 
 
 No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward 
 voyage. Every night there was riddling in the 
 forecastle and the chanting of rude ballads. And 
 sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, 
 as if the very heart of happiness were under the 
 sounding-board, and Love himself in the strings.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 DAME KINGSWELL, the widow of that good 
 merchant of Bristol whom Queen Elizabeth had 
 knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and 
 looked down upon a pleasant garden beneath the 
 window. She was alone. Her garments, though 
 of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore 
 no personal ornaments save two rings on her left 
 hand, and a chain of gold, bearing a small cross 
 of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair 
 was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black 
 as her husband's had been flaxen. Her complexion 
 held scarcely more colour than her hair. On her 
 knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly il- 
 luminated about the margins, lay open. But her 
 thin hands were folded over the page, and her gaze 
 was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time 
 was early evening. The sunlight Was mellow gold. 
 The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the lawns 
 threw eastward shadows. 
 
 3 2 3
 
 324 Brothers of Peril 
 
 The chamber in which the widow sat was large 
 and scantily furnished. A few portraits, by masters 
 of the brush, hung along the walls. A prayer-desk, 
 with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner. 
 
 A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady 
 turned her eyes from the bright garden below her 
 window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful 
 girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger 
 advanced quickly, in a whispering of silks, and in 
 her glowing hands took the widow's bloodless fin- 
 gers. 
 
 " My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, " I 
 fear my memory is flitting. I do not recall your 
 winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir 
 Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young 
 lady in London ? " 
 
 The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale 
 hands lightly and prettily. 
 
 " My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured. 
 
 The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, 
 in vain, to connect this lovely creature with any 
 branches of the late knight's family. 
 
 "Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she 
 queried. " Pray do not kneel there, my dear. 
 Come sit in the window and tell me who you are." 
 
 But the stranger did not move. 
 
 " I am your daughter," she said. " And oh,
 
 The Mother 325 
 
 do not swoon, my mother Bernard is at the door, 
 awaiting your permission to enter." 
 
 The widow closed her eyes for a second, lean- 
 ing back in her chair. She recovered herself swiftly 
 and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was now 
 standing, ready to run to the door and admit her 
 husband. 
 
 " What story is this ? " she cried, incredulous. 
 " I have no daughter. And Bernard, my son, has 
 lain dead in a far land these weary months." 
 
 " Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. " Nay, 
 he is not dead. But let me go to the door, and you 
 will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your 
 threshold, happy and well." 
 
 The older woman maintained her hold of her 
 visitor's gown. " And who are you, to bring me 
 word of my son's return ? " she asked, with a ring 
 of shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, 
 she feared that she was affording sport to some 
 heartless person; for this sudden tale of her son's 
 safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken 
 upon her pensive reveries like an impossible scene 
 out of a play. 
 
 " I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an 
 effort, she pulled her skirts away from the clutch- 
 ing fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it 
 open, she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang
 
 326 Brothers of Peril 
 
 to where his mother sat, and caught her up from 
 her chair against his breast. With a glad, inartic- 
 ulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck 
 and clung hysterically. 
 
 Five days after the arrival of the Heart of the 
 West, the Cristobal sailed into port. By that time 
 the story of her capture was well known in the town, 
 and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to 
 welcome her. Master Kingswell put her up for 
 sale. In the end, he bought her himself, for some- 
 thing more than she was worth. Every penny of 
 the money Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who 
 had fought and sailed their ship so valorously on 
 her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and 
 wayward master mariner, John Trowley, failed to 
 show himself for a share of the gold. He had not 
 the courage to run a chance of another meeting 
 with Lady Kingswell. 
 
 Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad 
 Ouenwa, something is written in the old records 
 in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the little 
 fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some 
 chroniclers maintain that the French overpowered 
 it; others are as certain that the settlers moved 
 to Conception Bay, and there established themselves
 
 The Mother 327 
 
 so securely that, even to-day, descendants of those 
 Triggets and those Donnellys cultivate their little 
 crops, cure their fish, and sail their fore-and-afters 
 around the coast to St. John's. 
 
 THE END.
 
 announcement 
 
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 Haunters of the Silences. BY CHARLES G. 
 
 D. ROBERTS, author of " Red Fox," The Watchws of 
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 the Sieur de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 " Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him 
 
 heartily. The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, 
 
 rational and convincing." Boston Transcript. 
 
 The Mystery of Murray Davenport 
 
 (4Oth thousand.) 
 
 " This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. 
 Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of 
 this praise, which is generous." Buffalo News. 
 
 Captain Ravenshaw 
 
 OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE. (sad thousand.) A romance 
 of Elizabethan London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other 
 artists. 
 
 Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had 
 anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. 
 
 The Continental Dragoon 
 
 A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778. (5jd 
 thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on 
 neutral territory.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 
 
 Philip Winwood 
 
 (;oth thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an 
 American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events 
 that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in 
 New York and London. Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton. 
 
 An Enemy to the King 
 
 (70th thousand.) From the " Recently Discovered Memoirs of 
 the Sieur de la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 
 An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the 
 
 adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., 
 
 and on the field with Henry IV. 
 
 The Road to Paris 
 
 A STORY OF ADVENTURE. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by 
 
 H. C. Edwards. 
 
 An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account 
 of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite an- 
 cestry. 
 
 A Gentleman Player 
 
 His ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZA- 
 BETH. (48th thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's com- 
 pany of players, and becomes a friend and protege of the great 
 poet. 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 
 
 Red Fox 
 
 THE STORY OF His ADVENTUROUS CAREER IN THE RINGWAAK 
 WILDS, AND OF His FINAL TRIUMPH OVER THE ENEMIES OF 
 His KIND. With fifty illustrations, including frontispiece in 
 color and cover design by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 Square quarto, cloth decorative $2.00 
 
 " Infinitely more wholesome reading than the average tale of 
 
 sport, since it gives a glimpse of the hunt from the point of view of 
 
 the hunted." Boston Transcript. 
 
 " True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will interest 
 
 old and young, city-bound and free-footed, those who know animals 
 
 and those who do not." Chicago Record- Herald. 
 "A brilliant chapter in natural history." Philadelphia North
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 The Kindred of the Wild 
 
 A BOOK OF ANIMAL LIFE. With fifty-one full-page plates and 
 many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 
 
 " Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal stories 
 that has appeared; well named and well done." John Burroughs. 
 
 The Watchers of the Trails 
 
 A companion volume to " The Kindred of the Wild." With 
 forty-eight full-page plates and many decorations from drawings 
 by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 
 
 " These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust 
 
 in their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. 
 
 Among the many writers about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an 
 
 enviable place. The Outlook. 
 
 " This is a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. 
 
 Bull's faithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their 
 
 own tell the story of the wild life, illuminating and supplementing 
 
 the pen pictures of the author." Literary Digest. 
 
 The Heart That Knows 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover .... 1.50 
 " A novel of singularly effective strength, luminous in literary 
 color, rich in its passionate, yet tender drama." New York Globe. 
 
 Earth's Enigmas 
 
 A new edition of Mr. Roberts's first volume of fiction, published 
 in 1892, and out of print for several years, with the addition of 
 three new stories, and ten illustrations by Charles Livingston 
 Bull. 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover .... $1.50 
 " It will rank high among collections of short stories. In 
 Earth's Enigmas ' is a wider range of subject than in the ' Kin- 
 dred of the Wild.'" Review from advance sheets of the illustrated 
 edition by Tiffany Blake in the Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 Barbara Ladd 
 
 With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck. 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover .... $1.50 
 
 " From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. Roberts lures 
 
 us on by his rapt devotion to the changing aspects of Nature and 
 
 by his keen and sympathetic analysis of human character." Boston 
 
 Transcript.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 
 
 Cameron of Lochiel 
 
 Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gaspe, with 
 
 frontispiece in color by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative $1.50 
 
 " Professor Roberts deserves the thanks of his reader for giving 
 a wider audience an opportunity to enjoy this striking bit of French 
 Canadian literature." Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " It is not often in these days of sensational and philosophical 
 novels that one picks up a book that so touches the heart." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
 
 With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill. 
 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative, gilt top . . . . $1.50 
 
 A tale of Acadia, a land which is the author's heart's delight, 
 of a valiant young lieutenant and a winsome maiden, who first 
 captures and then captivates. 
 
 " This is the kind of a story that makes one grow younger, more 
 innocent, more light-hearted. Its literary quality is impeccable. 
 It is not every day that such a heroine blossoms into even tempo- 
 rary existence, and the very name of the story bears a breath of 
 charm." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 The Heart of the Ancient Wood 
 
 With six illustrations by James L. Weston. 
 
 Library I2mo, decorative cover $1.50 
 
 "One of the most fascinating novels of recent days." Boston 
 Journal. 
 
 " A classic twentieth-century romance." New York Commercial 
 Advertiser. 
 
 The Forge in the Forest 
 
 Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, 
 Seigneur de Briart, and how he crossed the Black Abbe, and of 
 his adventures in a strange fellowship. Illustrated by Henry 
 Sandham, R. C. A. 
 
 Library I2mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50 
 
 A story of pure love and heroic adventure. 
 
 By the Marshes of Minas 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . . . 1.50 
 Most of these romances are in the author's lighter and more 
 
 playful vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite 
 
 workmanship.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 A Sister to Evangeline 
 
 Being the Story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into 
 exile with the villagers of Grand Pre. 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . . . $i .50 
 Swift action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion, 
 and searching analysis characterize this strong novel. 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 LILIAN BELL 
 
 Carolina Lee 
 
 With a frontispiece in color from an oil painting by Dora Wheeler 
 Keith. Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.50 
 " A Christian Science novel, full of action, alive with incident and 
 brisk with pithy dialogue and humor." Boston Transcript. 
 
 " A charming portrayal of the attractive life of the South, refresh- 
 ing as a breeze that blows through a pine forest." Albany Times- 
 Union. 
 
 Hope Loring 
 
 Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover .... $1.50 
 " Tall, slender, and athletic, fragile-looking, yet with nerves and 
 sinews of steel under the velvet flesh, frank as a boy and tender and 
 beautiful as a woman, free and independent, yet not bold such is 
 ' Hope Loring,' by long odds the subtlest study that has yet been 
 made of the American girl." Dorothy Dix, in the New York 
 American. 
 
 Abroad with the Jimmies 
 
 With a portrait, in duogravure, of the author. 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover .... $1.50 
 " Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum." 
 Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 At Home with the Jardines 
 
 A companion volume to " Abroad with the Jimmies." 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover i-5O 
 
 " Bits of gay humor, sunny, whimsical philosophy, and keen in- 
 dubitable insight into the less evident aspects and workings of pure 
 human nature, with a slender thread of a cleverly extraneous love 
 story, keep the interest of the reader fresh." Chicago Record- 
 Herald.
 
 I I II III I I I I II II 
 
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