Annette - The Metis Spy

The York boat, with its brave little band, reached Battleford in

safety, and the two handsome Indian boys pitched their tents aloof

upon the prairie, about, a mile distant from the Fort, selecting a

little cup shaped hollow, rimmed around with scrubby white oak. The

horses fed in the centre, and at the edge of the bushes gleamed the

white sides of the tent.

That evening, as the two entered the town, they perceived a tall

Indian standing by the gate.

"It is Little Poplar," whispered Julie; and seeing the two maidens

about the same time, the chief stepped forward.

"Cruel work," he said, "reported from Frog Lake. Captain Stephens

and two others were sent an hour ago with fast horses to enquire if

the story is true. But he had not long passed this gate when I

noticed Jean, the great chief's man, and a dozen of the Stoney Crees

ride after him. I am sure that they are plotting him harm."

"What route did they take?" asked Annette, while her eyes grew large

and bright.

"They went upon the muskeg trail. It leads directly to Frog Lake."

"Thank you again, chief; I go immediately." Julie likewise turned

about.

"Nay, you must not encounter this peril with me; already you have

ventured more than I should have permitted;" but a look of sorrowful

reproach came into the little maiden's eye.

"Is Julie of no use, that her mistress will not consent for her to

come? Did the faithful follower not say in the beginning that

wherever her mistress went, there she would go? that the dangers of

the mistress should be borne also by the maid?"

"Well, since you wish to come, dear girl, I will not gainsay you.

But what thinks your chief about his darling courting all these

dangers?"

"Little Poplar," the Indian replied, "is proud to see his sweetheart

brave; and if she were not so brave, he could not love her half so

much." And stooping, the noble chief kissed and kissed the maiden's

forehead; and then, once, and very tenderly, her two red lips.

The pair now swiftly returned to the hollow, once again folded the

tent, closed their hamper, saddled the horses, and struck out swiftly

for the trail. They had practised eyes, and were soon convinced that

both parties had gone by this route. Their horses were fairly fresh

and they pushed on at high speed.

Their course lay over a long stretch of sodden marshes, brown with

the russet of Indian pipes and the bronze of their leafage. Here and

there a dry ridge lifted itself lazily out of the spongy flat, and

afforded solid, buoyant footing. But a dull gray began to fall upon

the plains. It was fog and they knew that less than half an hour of

clear skies, and the sight of landscape, remained to them. So they

sped on, now sinking deep in a mass of sodden liverwort, glistening

in the most exquisite of green, again treading down a tangle of

luscious, pale-yellow "bake-apples." The huge, noiseless mass soon

reached the swampy plain; and it rolled as if upon wheels of floss,

shutting out the sun and smothering the bluffs. The gloom was now so

great that they could not see more than twenty paces on any hand, and

every object in view seemed many times greater than its natural size,

and distorted in shape. Miles and miles they went through swamp and

tangle, till they heard the far-off, sullen roar of water. The land

now also began to dip, and fifteen minutes' ride brought them to a

low-lying region of swamp, sentinelled with dismal larches. Close at

hand they heard the moaning of a slow stream; beyond was the muffled

thunder of some tremendous waterfall. They were soon convinced that

they were on the confines of the Styx River, a dreary, forbidding

stream of ink-black water which wallowed through a larch swamp for

many miles till it reached the face of a bold cliff down which its

flood went booming with the sound of thunder. At every step now the

horses sank almost to the knee; but as the trail was yet visible they

pushed on, keeping close to the banks of the stream.