The Woman from Outside Read online

  CHAPTER II

  HOOLIAM

  When the spring days came around, Stonor, whose business it was to keepwatch on such things, began to perceive an undercurrent of waywardnessamong the Indians and breeds of the post. Teachers know how an epidemicof naughtiness will sweep a class; this was much the same thing. Therewas no actual outbreak; it was chiefly evinced in defiant looks and animpudent swagger. It was difficult to trace back, for the red peoplehang together solidly; a man with even a trace of red blood will rarelyadmit a white man into the secrets of the race. Under questioning theymaintain a bland front that it is almost impossible to break down.Stonor had long ago learned the folly of trying to get at what he wantedby direct questioning.

  He finally, as he thought, succeeded in locating the source of theinfection at Carcajou Point. Parties from the post rode up there withsuspicious frequency, and came back with a noticeably lowered moraltone, licking their lips, so to speak. All the signs pointed to whisky.

  At dawn of a morning in May, Stonor, without having advertised hisintention, set off for Carcajou on horseback. The land trail cut acrossa wide sweep of the river, and on horseback one could make it in a day,whereas it was a three days' paddle up-stream. Unfortunately he couldn'ttake them by surprise, for Carcajou was on the other side of the riverfrom Enterprise, and Stonor must wait on the shore until they came overafter him.

  As soon as he left the buildings of the post behind him Stonor's heartwas greatly lifted up. It was his first long ride of the season. Thetrail led him through the poplar bush back to the bench, thence in abee-line across the prairie. The sun rose as he climbed the bench. Theprairie was not the "bald-headed" so dear to those who know it, but wasdiversified with poplar bluffs, clumps of willow, and wild-rose-scrub inthe hollows. The crocuses were in bloom, the poplar trees hanging outmillions of emerald pendants, and the sky showed that exquisite, tenderluminousness that only the northern sky knows when the sun travelstowards the north. Only singing-birds were lacking to complete the idylof spring. Stonor, all alone in a beautiful world, lifted up his voiceto supply the missing praise.

  Towards sunset he approached the shore of the river opposite CarcajouPoint, but as he didn't wish to arrive at night, he camped withinshelter of the woods. In the morning he signalled for a boat. They cameafter him in a dug-out, and he swam his horse across.

  A preliminary survey of the place revealed nothing out of the way. Thepeople who called themselves Beaver Indians were in reality thescourings of half the tribes in the country, and it is doubtful if therewas an individual of pure red race among them. Physically they were asad lot, for Nature revenges herself swiftly on the offspring ofhybrids. Quaint ethnological differences were exhibited in the samefamily; one brother would have a French physiognomy, another a Scottishcast of feature, and a third the thick lips and flattened nose of anegro. Their village was no less nondescript than its inhabitants,merely a straggling row of shacks, thrown together anyhow, and roofedwith sods, now putting forth a brave growth of weeds. These houses wereintended for a winter residence only. In summer they "pitched around."At present they were putting their dug-outs and canoes in order for amigration.

  Stonor was received on the beach by Shose (Joseph) Cardinal, a fine,up-standing ancient of better physique than his sons and grandsons. In acommunity of hairless men he was further distinguished by a stragglinggrey beard. His wits were beginning to fail, but not yet his cunning. Hewas extremely anxious to learn the reason for the policeman's coming.For Stonor to tell him would have been to defeat his object; to liewould have been to lower himself in their eyes; so Stonor took refuge inan inscrutability as polite as the old man's own.

  Stonor made a house-to-house canvass of the village, inquiring as to thehealth and well-being of each household, as is the custom of hisservice, and keeping his eyes open on his own account. He satisfiedhimself that if there had been whisky there, it was drunk up by now.Some of the men showed the sullen depressed air that follows on aprolonged spree, but all were sober at present.

  He was in one of the last houses of the village, when, out of the tailof his eye, he saw a man quietly issue from the house next in order,and, covered by the crowd around the door, make his way back to a housealready visited. Stonor, without saying anything, went back to thathouse and found himself face to face with a young white man, a stranger,who greeted him with an insolent grin.

  "Who are you?" demanded the policeman.

  "Hooliam."

  "You have a white man's name. What is it?"

  "Smith"--this with inimitable insolence, and a look around that bid forthe applause of the natives.

  Stonor's lip curled at the spectacle of a white man's thus loweringhimself. "Come outside," he said sternly. "I want to talk to you."

  He led the way to a place apart on the river bank, and the other, notdaring to defy him openly, followed with a swagger. With a stern glanceStonor kept the tatterdemalion crowd at bay. Stonor coolly surveyed hisman in the sunlight and saw that he was not white, as he had supposed,but a quarter or eighth breed. He was an uncommonly good-looking youngfellow in the hey-day of his youth, say, twenty-six. With his clearolive skin, straight features and curly dark hair he looked not so muchlike a breed as a man of one of the darker peoples of the Caucasianrace, an Italian or a Greek. There was a falcon-like quality in thepoise of his head, in his gaze, but the effect was marred by theconsciousness of evil, the irreconcilable look in the fine eyes.

  "Bad clear through!" was Stonor's instinctive verdict.

  "Where did you come from?" he demanded.

  "Up river," was the casual reply. The man's English was as good asStonor's own.

  "Answer me fully."

  "From Sah-ko-da-tah prairie, if you know where that is. I came into thatcountry by way of Grande Prairie. I came from Winnipeg."

  Stonor didn't believe a word of this, but had no means of confuting theman on the spot. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

  "A week or so. I didn't keep track."

  "What is your business here?"

  "I'm looking for a job."

  "Among the Beavers? Why didn't you come to the trading-post?"

  "I was coming, but they tell me John Gaviller's a hard man to work fer.Thought I better keep clear of him."

  "Gaviller's the only employer of labour hereabouts. If you don't likehim you'll have to look elsewhere."

  "I can take up land, can't I?"

  "Not here. This is treaty land. Plenty of good surveyed homesteadsaround the post."

  "Thanks. I prefer to pick my own location."

  "I'll give you your choice. You can either come down to the post where Ican keep an eye on your doings, or go back up the river where you camefrom."

  "Do you call this a free country?"

  "Never mind that. You're getting off easy. If you'd rather, I'll put youunder arrest and carry you down to the post for trial."

  "On what charge?"

  "Furnishing whisky to the Indians."

  "It's a lie!" cried the man, hoping to provoke Stonor into revealing theextent of his information.

  But the policeman shrugged, and remained mum.

  The other suddenly changed his front. "All right, I'll go if I have to,"he said, with a conciliatory air. "To-morrow."

  "You'll leave within an hour," said Stonor, consulting his watch. "I'llsee you off. Better get your things together."

  The man still lingered, and Stonor saw an unspoken question in his eye,a desire to ingratiate himself. Now Stonor, under his stern port as anofficer of the law, was intensely curious about the fellow. With hisgood looks, his impudent assurance, his command of English, he was anotable figure in that remote district. The policeman permitted himselfto unbend a little.

  "What are you travelling in?" he asked.

  "Dug-out." Encouraged by the policeman's altered manner, the self-styledHooliam went on, with an air of taking Stonor into his confidence:"These niggers here are a funny lot, aren't they? Still believe inmagic."

  "In wha
t way?"

  "Why, they're always talking about a White Medicine Man who lives besidea river off to the north-west. Ernest Imbrie they call him. Do you knowhim?"

  "No."

  "He's been to the post, hasn't he?"

  "No."

  "Well, how did he get into the country?"

  "I don't know."

  "These people say he works magic."

  "Well, if anyone wants to believe that--!"

  "What do they say about him down at the post?"

  "Plenty of foolishness."

  "But what?"

  "You don't expect me to repeat foolish gossip, do you?"

  "No, but what do you think about him?"

  "I don't think."

  "They say that Gaviller's lodged a complaint against him, and you'regoing out there to arrest him as soon as it's fit to travel."

  "That's a lie. There's no complaint against the man."

  "But you are going out there, aren't you?"

  "I can't discuss my movements with you."

  "That means you are going. Is it true he sent in a whole bale of silverfoxes to the post?"

  "Say, what's your interest in this man, anyway?" said Stonor, losingpatience.

  "Nothing at all," said the breed carelessly. "These Indians are alwaystalking about him. It roused my curiosity, that's all."

  "Suppose you satisfy my curiosity about yourself," suggested Stonormeaningly.

  The old light of impudent mockery returned to the comely dark face. "Me?Oh, I'm only a no-account hobo," he said. "I'll have to be getting readynow."

  And so Stonor's curiosity remained unsatisfied. To have questioned theman further would only have been to lower his dignity. True, he mighthave arrested him, and forced him to give an account of himself, but theprocesses of justice are difficult and expensive so far north, and thepolicemen are instructed not to make arrests except when unavoidable. Atthe moment it did not occur to Stonor but that the man's questions aboutImbrie were actuated by an idle curiosity.

  When the hour was up, the entire population of Carcajou Point gatheredon the shore to witness Hooliam's departure. Stonor was there, too, ofcourse, standing grimly apart from the rabble. Of what they thought ofthis summary deportation he could not be sure, but he suspected that ifthe whisky were all gone, they would not care much one way or the other.Hooliam was throwing his belongings in a dug-out of a different stylefrom that used by the Beavers. It was ornamented with a curved prow andstern, such as Stonor had not before seen.

  "Where did you get that boat?" he asked.

  "I didn't steal it," answered Hooliam impudently. "Traded my horse forit and some grub at Fort Cardigan."

  Cardigan was a Company post on the Spirit a hundred miles or so abovethe Crossing. Stonor saw that Hooliam was well provided with blankets,grub, ammunition, etc., and that it was not Company goods.

  When Hooliam was ready to embark, he addressed the crowd in an Indiantongue which strongly resembled Beaver, which Stonor spoke, but haddifferent inflections. Freely translated, his words were:

  "I go, men. The moose-berry (_i. e._, red-coat) wills it. I don't likemoose-berries. Little juice and much stone. To eat moose-berries draws aman's mouth up like a tobacco-bag when the string is pulled."

  They laughed, with deprecatory side-glances at the policeman. They werenot aware that he spoke their tongue. Stonor had no intention of lettingthem know it, and kept an inscrutable face. They pushed off the dug-out,and Hooliam, with a derisive wave of the hand, headed up river. Allremained on the shore, and Stonor, seeing that they expected somethingmore of Hooliam, remained also.

  He had gone about a third of a mile when Stonor saw him bring thedug-out around and ground her on the beach. He made no move to get out,but a woman appeared from out of the shrubbery and got in. She was toofar away for Stonor to distinguish anything of her features; her figurelooked matronly.

  "Who is that?" he asked sharply.

  Several voices answered. "Hooliam's woman. Hooliam got old woman for hiswoman"--with scornful laughter. Now that Hooliam was gone, they wereprepared to curry favour with the policeman.

  Stonor was careful not to show the uneasiness he felt. This was hisfirst intimation that Hooliam had a companion. He considered followinghim in another dug-out, but finally decided against it. The fact that hehad taken the woman aboard in plain sight smacked merely of bravado. Along experience of the red race had taught Stonor that they love toshroud their movements in mystery from the whites, and that in theirmost mysterious acts there is not necessarily any significance.

  Hooliam, with a wave of his paddle, resumed his journey, and presentlydisappeared around a bend. Stonor turned on his heel and left the beach,followed by the people. They awaited his next move somewhatapprehensively, displaying an anxiety to please which suggested badconsciences. Stonor, however, contented himself with offering someprivate admonitions to Shose Cardinal, who seemed to take them in goodpart. He then prepared to return to the post. The people speeded hisdeparture with relieved faces.

  That night Stonor camped on the prairie half-way home. As he lay wooingsleep under the stars, his horse cropping companionably near by, a newthought caused him to sit up suddenly in his blankets.

  "He mentioned the name Ernest Imbrie. The Indians never call himanything but the White Medicine Man. And even if they had picked up thename Imbrie at the post, they never speak of a man by his Christianname. If they had heard the name Ernest I doubt if they could pronounceit. Sounds as if he knew the name beforehand. Queer if there should beany connection there. I wish I hadn't let him go so easily.--Oh, well,it's too late to worry about it now. The steamboat will get to theCrossing before he does. I'll drop a line to Lambert to keep an eye onhim."