Johnny Longbow Read online

  CHAPTER II MYSTERIOUS FEAR

  In spite of his great hunger and the maddening odors that came to him,filling his heart with a wild desire to break his promise, to wait nolonger, but dash into the strange camp, Johnny had fallen into a dozewhen the girl, silent as a snow bunting, returned.

  She touched his arm. He jumped, stared blinkingly, then smiled.

  "You are American," she said quietly.

  "Yes."

  "Do you know much of Canada?"

  "Nothing much. Been over the border a month; came in from the northwest."

  "I told Grandfather. Come."

  She made as if to take up her share of the burden.

  With a quick move Johnny threw the entire weight of the caribou squarelyacross his own shoulders.

  "Lead on," he said.

  She led the way in silence. Carefully pushing the branches aside,indicating by a downward glance a spot where the footing was uncertain,testing a half rotted log and rejecting it as treacherous, she played thepart of a perfect guide until, with an air of finality, she parted thespruce branches to exclaim:

  "There!"

  As Johnny lowered his burden to the earth he found himself astonished atthe sight before him. He had expected to see a hunter's lodge of someproportions, at least a homeseeker's cabin in fair state of preservation.Instead he found a mere lodge built of poles, bark and boughs. Walled inon three sides, with one side open to the campfire, it formed but atemporary abode.

  "What can these people be doing in such a place and so far from thehaunts of man?" he asked himself.

  He was destined to ask that question many times in the weeks that were tocome.

  But now his thoughts were broken off. The girl was speaking.

  "Grandfather, this is the young man," she said simply as she noddedtoward Johnny. "He's bringing his own venison."

  "She had a hand in it," said Johnny modestly as a great, grizzledsix-foot Scotchman, stooping low that he might pass out of the lodge,gave him a smile and offered a hand.

  "He killed the caribou." The girl's laugh was low and pleasing. "After hehad killed him I shot him twice just to make sure he was dead."

  Then in a few words she narrated the adventure.

  "Rather strange," the big Scot rumbled. "But see here, young man, you arean American, are you not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then how is it that you are hunting with bow and arrow?"

  "It's a bit of a fad, I suppose," said Johnny, not wishing to overplayhis part. "But even in America we feel that some traditions and artsshould be preserved. There's a lot of sport in really shooting straightand true with one of man's most ancient weapons. Don't you think so?"

  "I do!" the old man's answer was emphatic. "And, furthermore, I believethe world would be better off if it had never smelled gunpowder. We as ageneration--"

  "But, Grandfather," the girl broke in, "he has not eaten for three days."

  "No? Is that true?"

  "Well,--nearly," Johnny admitted.

  "There'll be time for talking by the evening campfire. Faye, bring outthe broiler. I'll stir up the fire. We'll have you a broiled venisonsteak you'll not soon forget.

  "Inside the cabin by the door you'll find a basin," the old man went on."There's water in the brook and soap in the little box under the eaves.In the north woods one lives the simple life. But you're welcome to suchas we have."

  Corn cakes fried in bacon grease, a rich, juicy steak broiled over thecoals, made the feast all that Gordon Duncan, the old Scot, had promisedit should be.

  The meal over, pine chips that had been used in lieu of plates weretossed into the fire, aluminum cups, spoons and forks were cleansed atthe brook, then for a space of time the three sat silently contemplatingthe fire.

  As he had entered the shelter in search of the basin, Johnny had allowedhis eyes to rove about the place. In one corner, tightly rolled up andtied with thongs, were two sleeping bags. In another stood a canvasreceptacle which, he concluded, must contain bows and arrows. A singlebow of powerful proportions stood against the back wall. Not a singlefirearm of any sort was in sight.

  "Strange," he had thought to himself. "Our meeting seems to have beenarranged by some great director of destinies. And yet--"

  He was thinking now of the uncertainty and great secrecy that hadattended his entrance to their inner circle.

  "What can one fear up here?" he thought.

  At once the answer came back, "The law!"

  Who has not read of the far reaching arm of the law in this land, theMounted Police?

  "Can they be fugitives from justice?" The thing seemed absurd. And yet?

  As he sat by the fire, now watching its leaping flames and now staringinto the mystery haunted darkness that lay all about him, he wonderedanew, but most of all he listened, waiting for a word that would bid himjoin them here in the heart of the wilderness.

  He realized as never before how lonely life in the Arctic could become,how uncertain life's span. He had been on the verge of starvation. Now hewas fed. His arrow, shot into the heart of the caribou, had not beenbroken. He had salvaged that. It lay close beside him. Yet this was hisonly arrow. There had been a little thawing of snow on sunny slopes, butwinter was still here. The low swish and sigh of the pines suggested acold wind from the north with a possible blizzard. To be alone in such astorm, with but a single arrow--

  As if reading the boy's thought, the old man spoke. "We can offer youlittle protection and no bed, but you are welcome to a place before ourfire."

  "I--I've got blankets." Johnny's tone was eager as he sprang to his feet.The smile he had seen on the girl's face returned. He believed that shetoo was pleased.

  "Be a great pal," he told himself. "Strong as a man. And how she canshoot!"

  To Gordon Duncan he said, "I'll go for my blankets."

  "Are you sure you know the way?"

  "It's by a bend in the river where three great pines shade the stream."

  "I know the place," said the girl, springing up. "I--I'll take you as faras the river. You'll have no trouble after that. There's something of atrail."

  Together they left the narrow circle of golden light cast by the campfireand plunged into black shadows.

  As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the girl appeared toexperience no difficulty in following the mere suggestion of a trail thatled down the hillside. Johnny noted the habit she had acquired of leapingfrom rock to rock and avoiding snowbanks. Hardly knowing why, he followedher example.

  As they came to the bank of the rushing stream that even the winter'scold could not conquer, they paused for a moment to watch the moonlightplay across its surface.

  The girl moved quite close to him. Their shoulders nearly touched. Heseemed to feel the splendid strength, the abounding life that was in her.She somehow seemed a part of it all, of the forest, the night and therushing river.

  "Do you know," she said quietly, "I'm glad you've come. I--I hope you'lllike us. Grandfather is a little queer, and he has bad spells with hisheart. And--and we can't go back, not--not just yet.

  "There's your trail." Her voice changed suddenly. "You won't get lost.But if you do, just cup your hands and shout like this: 'Whoo Hoo.'"

  Her voice rose clear and penetrating above the rush of the river. An owlrose from a nearby tree and went flapping away. There was a scratching offeet on the hard packed snow. From above came the answering boom of theold man's voice.

  She was gone.

  Johnny turned to hurry on his way. Still his mind was not all on theuncertain trail. She had said they could not go back, not just yet. "Goback to what?" he asked himself. "And why not?" Surely it was strange.Yet he was very sure he was going to like them. He'd go where they went.Why not? He was adventuring, living in the wilderness with bow and arrow.Curious they should be doing the same thing. Yes, he'd go with them.

  An hour of difficult tracking and he was at his camp of the night before.Feeling no
t the least desire to loiter here, he slung his pack across hisback and went trudging away toward that other camp.

  As he neared a certain spot on the river trail, the moonlight seepingdown through the overhanging boughs showed him footprints leading up theslope. It took but a single glance to enable him to recognize them. Theyhad been made by the girl's moccasins.

  Curiosity led him to follow this fresh trail. In a space of three minuteshe was at the door of the substantial cabin, deserted but the day beforeby the girl and the old man.

  "They were living here. They left this for a temporary shelter. I wonderwhy?"

  He read the answer. They had discovered that some person besidesthemselves was in the country. How had they made the discovery? Why werethey afraid?

  "Time unravels all mysteries," he told himself. "Enough for to-night thatI have found human companions and a place beside a campfire." He returneddown the slope. A half hour later, he was lying propped by one elbowagainst his blanket roll, staring at the campfire of his newfoundfriends. A little way from him sat the girl.

  On his return she had greeted him with one of those rare smiles. That wasabout all. Ten minutes passed into eternity as they sat there in silence,encircled by the dark mysteries of night and brooded over by the hush ofa wilderness.

  Johnny's mind was never idle. It was busy now. He was asking himselfquestions. Who was this girl, so ruddy and strong? And who was hergrandfather? Had they always lived thus in the wilds, supportingthemselves with bow and arrow alone? His fancy pictured them so; yetreason told him it could not be true. Why were they afraid? Afraid ofbeing discovered? Whom did they fear?

  "Oh well," he said to himself, "it is evident that they no longer fearme. I am from the United States and have not been long in Canada. That isenough."

  A half formed resolve entered his mind, a resolve that was to gain instrength as the days passed. He would not leave the company of thisstrange pair until he had solved the mystery that hung over them like aghostly fog in the night.

  The fire burned low. The north wind swept in sharp and chilling. Rising,he took a small axe that lay close by and went into the outer darkness.The girl rose and followed silently.

  Soon they returned, dragging heavy pine logs after them. He had notedwith admiration that she chose a log as large and heavy as his own.

  Three times they retreated into the darkness; three times returnedheavily laden. Then, each working at the end of a log, they replenishedthe fire. Logs were piled high. Small branches were thrown on. As thefire leaped up the girl spoke.

  "Where were you going?" she asked.

  "Why, nowhere in particular. Just bumming, you might say."

  She looked at him in a peculiar way.

  "Well," he said half apologetically, "it wasn't exactly that. Been in theNorth before, but not with bow and arrow; not Canada either. Alaska. TheNorth called me back."

  "I know." Her voice was low and deep. "It always does."

  "As for the bow," he spoke again, "I'm a mere novice. But there's a charmto such hunting that does not come with firearms. And these primevalforests always have seemed to call to me. The wilderness has voices, athousand voices."

  The girl nodded.

  "I took the dare that nature threw down to me," he said abruptly, "andhere I am."

  "But your arrows? You had only one."

  "Lost the others yesterday in the river. It was deeper and swifter than Ithought."

  Rising, she went into the birchbark cabin. She returned at once with anarrow. She held it out to him.

  "This," she said, "I believe is yours."

  "Yes," said Johnny in great surprise. "You found it."

  "It came bobbing along to me on the surface of the river. It's a finearrow. I've asked the fairies of this northwood to bless it. Take itback; it may bring you good luck."

  "So that--" Johnny broke off abruptly. He was about to say, "So that ishow you knew I was near?" He would make no attempt to surprise these newfriends into divulging their strange secret. No. He would try to provehimself worthy of their friendship and confidence.

  As if conscious of that which went on within his mind, the girl lapsedagain into silence.

  When at last she spoke again her tones were deep and mellow like the lownotes of a cello.

  "Grandfather and I," she said, "have gone into the woods every year sinceI was ten. The bow and arrow are his hobby. They have become mine. Henever uses firearms. He has dreadfully sensitive ears. The explosion of ashotgun drives him frantic.

  "Always before," she went on after a pause, "we have come to thewilderness for pure pleasure, the joy of the out-of-doors. But thisyear--" She paused again as if for reflection. "This year we have gonefarther than before."

  Johnny caught his breath. He had thought she was about to reveal asecret, and didn't more than half want to hear it. A mystery half ripenedis no mystery at all. He need not have feared.

  "To-morrow," she said, "we will go farther north."

  "Why?" The word slipped out unguarded.

  She looked at him in silence, then said quite calmly, "I don't know why,not quite all together. This year Grandfather acts quite strangely. Hetells me he sees signs."

  "Of what?"

  "He--he doesn't tell me that. Perhaps he doesn't quite know. He is veryold; yet his mind is bright, clear as a bell. He--"

  Suddenly the girl put out a hand to touch Johnny's lips. She had caught asound that had escaped him. The old man was returning. Ten seconds laterhe came tramping in through the brush.

  "Everything is splendid," he beamed. "Been five miles downstream. Thetrail is good. Country is opening up. To-morrow we will go on.

  "Ah!" he sighed as he dropped on a bed of pine needles. "You know how tomake a fire, you two. It feels good!" He rubbed his hands together withgreat satisfaction.

  That night, ere he made up his bed of pine needles before the fire androlled up in his blanket for a few hours of perfect repose, Johnnywitnessed a curious and impressive ceremony.

  As they sat there before the fire, the three of them, Gordon Duncan tookfrom his pocket a small, well worn volume. After thumbing its pages for amoment, he found a place and began to read. The words of a very ancientpoet, who had learned centuries ago to place his trust in a power thatwas higher and greater than all earthly things, came from the lips of thevenerable Scot like a benediction.

  When at last he closed the book and lifted his voice in petition, it wasas if they were savages, children of nature, an old man, a girl and aboy, as if the earth were new again and they were asking the All SeeingOne to send caribou, rabbit and ptarmigan, to withhold the cunning of thewolf and the power of the bear, to hold the bitter north wind in checkand send the gentle south wind to fan their cheeks.

  When it was over, when the old man and the girl had retired to theirfrail shelter for the night, and Johnny had wrapped himself in blanketsbefore the fire of pine logs, he felt within him a glow of warmth and asense of security such as he had not experienced before in all hiswanderings.

  The next day a strange discovery was made. A fresh mystery pressed itselfupon them. In the unraveling of this mystery, Faye Duncan was to take afair part.