Part 85 (1/2)
But he slowly shook his head, the faint smile lingering still. Then his grip closed suddenly on my hand, released it, and he swung on his heel.
”Attention!” he said crisply. ”Sling packs! Fall in! Tr-r-rail arms!
March!”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE RITE OF THE HIDDEN CHILDREN
My Indians and I stood watching our riflemen as they swung to the east and trotted out of sight among the trees. Then, at a curt nod from me, the Indians lengthened their line, extending it westward along the height of land, and so spreading out that they entirely commanded the only outlet to the swamp below, by encircling both the trail and the headwaters of the evil-looking little stream.
Through the unbroken thatch of matted foliage overhead no faintest ray of sunlight filtered--not even where the stream coiled its slimy way among the tamaracks and spruces. But south of us, along the ascending trail by which we had come, the westering sun glowed red across a ledge of rock, from which the hill fell sheer away, plunging into profound green depths, where unseen waters flowed southward to the Susquehanna.
Around the ma.s.sive elbow of this ledge, our back-trail, ascending into view, curved under shouldering boulders. Blueberry scrub, already turning gold and crimson, grew spa.r.s.ely on the crag--cover enough for any watcher of the trail. And thither I crept and stretched me out flat in the bushes, where I could see the trail we had lately traversed, and look along it far to our rear as clearly as one sees through a dim and pillared corridor.
West of me, a purplish ridge ran north, the sun s.h.i.+ning low through a pine-clad notch. Southwest of me, little blue peaks p.r.i.c.ked the primrose sky; south-east lay endless forests, their green already veiled in an ashy blue bloom. Far down, under me, wound the narrow back-trail through the gulf below.
Presently, beside me came creeping the lithe Mohican, and lay down p.r.o.ne, smooth and golden, and s.h.i.+ning like a sleek panther in the sun.
”Is all well guarded, brother?” I whispered.
”Not even a wood-mouse could creep from the swamp unless our warriors see it.”
”And when dark comes?”
”Our ears must be our eyes, Loskiel.... But neither the Cat-People nor the Andastes will venture out of that mora.s.s, save only by the trail.
And we shall have two watchers on it through the night.”
”There is no other outlet?”
”None, except by the ridge Boyd travels. He blocks that pa.s.s with his twenty men.”
”Then we should have their egress blocked, except only in the north?”
”Yes--unless they learn of this by magic,” muttered the Mohican.
It was utterly useless for me to decry or ridicule his superst.i.tions; and there was but one way to combat them.
”If witchcraft there truly be in Catharines-town,” said I, ”it is bad magic, and therefore weak; and can avail nothing against true priesthood. What could the degraded acolytes of this Red Priest do against a consecrated Sagamore of the Lenape--against an ensign of the Enchanted Clan? Else why do you wear your crest--or the great Ghost Bear there rearing upon your breast?”
”It is true,” he murmured uneasily. ”What spell can Amochol lay upon us? What magic can he make to escape us? For the trail from Catharines-town is stopped by a Siwanois Sagamore and a Mohican warrior! It is closed by an Oneida Sachem who stand watching. When the Ghost Bear and the Were-Wolf watch, then the whole forest watches with them--Loup, Blue Wolf, and Bear. Where, then, can the Forest Cats slink out? Where can the filthy Carcajou escape?”
”Mayaro has spoken. It is a holy barrier that locks and bolts this door of secret evils. Under Tharon shall this trap remain inviolate till the last sorcerer be taken in it, the last demon be dead!”
* ”Yo-ya-ne-re!” he said, deliberately employing the Canienga expression with a fierce scorn that, for a moment, made his n.o.ble features terrible. Then he spat as though to wash from his mouth the taste of the hated language that had soiled it, even when used in contempt and derision; and he said in the suave tongue of his own people: ”Pray to your white G.o.d, Holder of Heaven, Master of Life and Death, that into our hands be delivered these scoffers who mock at Him and at Tharon--these Cat-murderers of little children, these pollutors of the Three Fires. And in the morning I shall arise and look into the rising sun, and ask the same of the far G.o.d who made of me a Mohican, a Siwanois, and a Sagamore. Let these things be done, brother, ere our hatchets redden in the flames of Catharines-town. For,” he added, naively, ”it is well that G.o.d should know what we are about, lest He misunderstand our purpose.”
[* ”It is well!”]
I a.s.sented gravely.