saw that the approaching foe was double their number, and reflected that there might be more behind them, all armed with guns, it was no wonder that they bethought themselves of retreat. To do them full credit, they did not move until their leader gave the word—then they sprang down the hillock, and in three minutes more were out in their kayaks making for the mouth of the river at their utmost speed.
On seeing this the Indians uttered a wild war-whoop and fired a volley. But the distance between them was too great. Only a few of the balls reached the fugitives, and went skipping over the water, each wide of its mark.
“Point high,” said Magadar to Alizay, who had just re-charged his gun.
The Indian obeyed, fired, and watched for the result, but no visible result followed.
“That is strange,” muttered the chief; “my brother must have pointed too high—so high that it has gone into the sun, for I never yet saw a bullet fired over water without coming down and making a splash.”
“It may have hit a canoe,” said Alizay. “I will try again.”
The second shot was, to all appearance, not more effective than the first.
“Perhaps my brother forgot to put in the balls.”
“Is Alizay a squaw?” asked the insulted brave angrily.
Magadar thought it wise to make no answer to this question, and in a few seconds more the kayaks doubled round a point that jutted into the stream and were hid from view.
But the two bullets had not missed their billets. One—the first fired—had dropped into Gartok’s canoe and buried itself in his left thigh. With the stoicism of a bold hunter, however, he uttered no cry, but continued to wield his paddle as well as he could. The other ball had pierced the back of his lieutenant Ondikik. He also, with the courage of a savage warrior, gave no sign at first that he was wounded.
At this point, where the Eskimos were for a time sheltered by the formation of the land, the Greygoose River had a double or horse-shoe bend; and the Indians, who knew the lie of the land well, thought it better to put ashore and run quickly over a neck of land in the hope of heading the kayaks before they reached the sea. Acting on this belief they thrust their canoes in among the reeds, and, leaping on shore, darted into the bushes.
The Eskimos, meanwhile, knowing that they could beat the Indians at paddling, and that the next bend in the stream would reveal to them a view of the open sea, kept driving ahead with all the force of their stout arms. They also knew that the firing would have alarmed their women and induced them to embark in their oomiak, push off to sea, and await them.
And this would have turned out as they had expected, but for an unforeseen event which delayed the women in their operations until too late—at least for one of the party.
Chapter Six.
A Surprise, a Struggle, and a Capture
When the Eskimo women, as before related, made up their minds to discard the cooking-lamp and indulge in the luxury of a wood fire, they sent one of their number into the bush to gather sticks. The one selected for this duty was Rinka, she being active and willing, besides being intelligent, which last was a matter of importance in one totally unaccustomed to traversing the pathless woods.
The girl obeyed orders at once, and soon had collected a large armful of dried branches, with which she prepared to return to the encampment. But when she looked up at the small trees by which she was surrounded, she felt considerably puzzled as to the direction in which she ought to walk. Of course, remembering that her back had been toward the sea when she set out, nothing seemed simpler than to turn round with her face towards it and proceed. But she had not done this for many minutes, when it occurred to her that she must have turned about more or less, several times, during her outward journey. This brought her to an abrupt halt. She looked up and around several times, and then, feeling quite sure that the shore must lie in a certain direction pointed out by Hope, set off in that direction at a good round pace. As the wood seemed to get thicker, however, she concluded that she was wrong, and changed direction again. Still the undergrowth became more dense, and then, suddenly coming to the conclusion that she was lost, she stood stock-still and dropped her bundle of sticks in dismay.
For a few moments she was stunned, as if her position were unbelievable. Then she became horrified and shouted to her companions, but her feeble, unassertive voice was unable to travel far, and drew forth no response. Indeed, she had wandered so far into the forest that, even if possessed of a man’s voice, she might have failed to attract the attention of the women. Then the sound of distant firing began to salute her ears, and in an agony of anxiety she ran hither and thither almost blindly.
But there were other ears besides those of Rinka which were startled by the guns.
Sitting under a tree—all ignorant of the presence of his brethren or of the warlike Indians—Cheenbuk was regaling himself on the carcass of a fat willow-grouse which he had speared a little before the firing began.
Our Eskimo was making for the coast where he had left his kayak, and had halted for a feed. The sport in the woods, after its novelty wore off, had lost interest for one whose natural game, so to speak, was bears and walruses, and he was on his way back when this rattle of musketry arrested him.
The sudden eruption of it was not more puzzling to him than its abrupt cessation. Could it be that some of his tribe had followed him to the river and fallen in with the men of the woods? He thought it not unlikely, and that, if so, his assistance, either as fighter or peacemaker, might be required.
Bolting the remainder of the willow-grouse precipitately, he jumped up, grasped his weapons, and made for the coast, as near as he could guess, in the direction of the firing.
It happened, at the same time, that one of the young Indians, who was on his first war-path, and thirsted for scalps as well as distinction, chanced to keep a more easterly direction than his fellows, when they took to the bush, as already related. This man, coming to an open glade whence he could see the shore, beheld the Eskimo women launching their oomiak in a state of frantic alarm. They were also signalling or beckoning eagerly as if to some one in the woods. Casting a hurried glance to his right, he observed poor Rinka, who had just got clear of the forest, and was running towards her companions as fast as her short legs could carry her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he took aim at her and fired. The poor girl uttered a loud shriek, threw up her arms, and fell to the ground. It chanced that Cheenbuk was within a hundred yards of the spot at the moment, but the bushes prevented his seeing what had occurred. The report, however, followed by the woman’s shriek, was a sufficient spur to him. Darting forward at full speed, he quickly cleared the underwood and came suddenly in view of a sight that caused every nerve in his body to tingle—Rinka prostrate on the ground with blood covering her face and hands, and the young Indian standing over her about to operate with the scalping-knife.
The howl of concentrated rage and horror uttered by Cheenbuk instantly checked the savage, and made him turn in self-defence. He had run to finish his horrible work, and secure the usual trophy of war without taking time to re-load his gun, and was thus almost unarmed. Grasping his powder-horn he attempted to rectify this error—which would never have been committed by an experienced warrior,—but before he could accomplish half the operation, the well-aimed spear of Cheenbuk went whistling through the air, and entering his chest came out at his back. He fell dead almost without a groan.
Cheenbuk did not stop to finish the work by stabbing or scalping, but he kneeled beside the wounded girl and gently raised her.
“Rinka,” he said, softly, while he undid her jacket
