CHAPTER XV

THE TRAGIC CIRCLE

There was not a moment to lose. The two youths seized their rifles and plunged into the forest.

"This way, Jack. Come!"

"Lead on, quickly!"

Young Eagle remained but a few seconds to take the victim's scalp and to give the defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then he, too, followed in their trail.

On they went. Their only chance of saving their lives now lay in putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk. 'Twas getting dark already, but they stumbled on through the tangled undergrowth, over fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.

Several times they heard the yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the crack of a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.

"Listen! That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll swear. He's either missed our trail, or he's purposely misled them to give us a chance of getting away."

"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried Jamie, who was a little way in advance. "That second scalp has cost him too dear."

'Twas getting quite dark now, and they were compelled to slacken their pace, partly from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they were constantly being tripped up by ground vines, trailers and fallen trunks.

Once they got separated, and Jamie thought that he heard Jack call him. He halted and listened, but hearing the swish of branches close behind him he thought that his comrade was following, and continued for another ten minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he glanced back, but saw no one following.

"Jack!" he called softly. "Where are you?" but no answer came back from the gloom.

Again he called--louder still, but only the cry of the night-raven and the screech of an owl gave reply. Then he retraced his footsteps across the clearing, but he failed even to discover the spot where he had left the forest. Five--ten minutes he remained there, searching for his own trail, but in the darkness he had lost his bearings, and not only Jack, but he himself was lost!--lost!

Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown tree-trunks, and dark, dank undergrowth, closing in upon him like a thick screen, separated him from the nearest habitation, and even the nearest fort. What was to become of him?

In his despair he threw himself down upon a rough, raised bank that ran part way round the clearing; then he remembered that fancied cry, back there by the swamp, when he had thought for an instant that Jack had called him by name.

"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he murmured. "It was Jack calling for help; it must have been. Perhaps he sank in the swamp, or perhaps the Indians attacked him from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died calling my name."

Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds, for he felt that he had wilfully deserted his comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.

"Ah--to die! That would be easy, if only Jack were here. We have too often faced death together to be afraid, but this wild loneliness unmans me," and here the lad broke down and sobbed in his bitterness.

This weakness, if such it can be called, was of short duration, however, for certain sounds fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him something or somebody was approaching. A rustling amongst the branches, a heavy but stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth. All this came from the forest not fifty feet away.

There was just enough light to see half-way across the small clearing. His every faculty became alert, and he instinctively raised his rifle, examined its priming, and fixed his eyes at that spot where the object must leave the forest to enter the clearing.

Perhaps it was Jack--at last. Should he call? Better wait and see. Perhaps it was an Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy. What could it be?

The next instant a shaggy head was thrust out from amongst the bushes, scarce twenty feet away from where he sat, and then a huge brown bear shambled into the clearing, stopping every few yards to raise his snout, and to sniff the air, as though it scented danger.

Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously, to feel if his hunting-knife were there, lest his rifle should fail him. The bear caught the movement, quick as it was, and looked suspiciously in the direction of the youth.

Having reached the middle of the clearing, the huge monster reared itself up on its hind legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws, began to advance in the direction of Jamie.

Jamie forgot every other danger in the face of this new one that now threatened. He forgot also all his fears, in his desire to overcome the bear. 'Twas to be a fair fight and no favour, and unless he killed "Bruin," then the beast would kill him.

With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie levelled his rifle, as the bear shambled towards him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to hug his victim in a fatal embrace. The youth knew the vulnerable spot in that thick, shaggy hide, and if he could only place his bullet there it would end the combat, but on a dark night like this could he do it?

He was about to pull the trigger when a strange diversion, entirely unexpected, occurred.

A plumed and painted warrior, from the Algonquin camp, hot upon the trail of the young paleface, quickly entered the clearing and almost rushed into the embrace of the huge monster. Discovering his mistake, and uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the warrior fell back in dismay, and dashed into the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape. The branches closed upon the bear and the Indian, and they were hidden from sight.

"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed Jamie, as he slipped quietly into the forest in another direction, thanking Heaven for this double escape, and taking hope, for he felt that God had not deserted him, and would somehow deliver him from his still terrible plight.

On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came to a little stream. Here he stooped to quench his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for he was fevered with excitement, after the quick transitions of feeling he had undergone since they alarmed the camp.

Then he followed the path of the brook some little way, hiding the trail of his moccasins in the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy mould of the forest the water yields no secret. Then, after a while, he struck into the forest again. Forward he went, lest the murdering Algonquins should discover his trail once more, and a tomahawk end his career. Once or twice he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his fierce flight.

The moon was rising now, and it was becoming much lighter, and Jamie was able to make more rapid progress; but he was becoming exhausted, and felt that he must stop soon, when suddenly he noticed that the giant pines and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and the undergrowth less tangled.

A tiny red glow--the glow of a camp-fire, appeared through the trees, and the next moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts of a deserted camp.

Now at length help is at hand, he thought, and he prepared to enter the place.

Horror of horrors! It was the same camp from which he had so blindly fled two hours before. Some malevolent deity had led his bewildered footsteps in a tragic circle, a mistake not uncommon, even for experienced travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and without due precaution.

Where was now the Providence that had guided his footsteps? He almost cursed his ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly fate would have it, this was the best thing that could have happened to him.

He had indeed been guided by Providence, for while both Jack and Young Eagle had been made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the watercourse, and unconsciously doubling back upon the deserted camp, had thrown even the quick-witted Algonquins off the scent, who never suspected such cunning in a paleface.

I have said that the camp was deserted, although the fire still burned, and the evening meal remained untouched, for at the first sound of that fatal cry from the woods every inmate of the camp, except the paleface prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring enemy who had scalped their warrior. In this sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while forgotten, as we shall shortly see.

Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld the fatal error he had made. Wearied and exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish, but even thus a new feeling of terror seized him, the terror of the returning Algonquins. What if they discovered him here?

Once more he plunged into the thicket, for a strange new strength had come to him, but it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.

Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled, and his clothes in tatters, he rushed madly away from the spot. Whither he went he cared not. Anywhere--away from that terrible camp. He rushed blindly on, until at the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly exhausted, beneath the friendly shelter of an elm-tree, and careless now whether the wild beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.

His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and he swooned away rather than sank into sleep; but soon his breathing became more regular, and his slumber more peaceful.

The moon rose above the topmost branches, climbed to the meridian, and sank once more amongst the pines. Then the golden orb of day unbarred his eastern shutters, tinged the far horizon with saffron and yellow, and flooded the landscape of forest, and river, and lake, with gold, but still the youth slept on. Would he never awake?

At length, when the sun was high above the tree-tops, Jamie stretched himself, then opened his eyes. As he did so his first gaze fell upon a man, somewhat past middle-age, but still strong and sturdy. He was in the garb of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt, moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on his head was a beaver cap.

Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw it was no redskin that bent over him.

This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk, against which leaned his rifle also. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and while he vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from his pipe, he was complacently looking at the lad, as though he had been keeping watch.

"The same face----" murmured Jamie. "It is--it must be--the great paleface hunter!"