XXX THE END OF THE TWISTED BLACKSMITH

Somewhat to the boys’ surprise, Nangotook showed no signs, during all those days of suffering, of the sullen moroseness that had characterized his behavior in former periods of misfortune. The Ojibwa was no physical coward, and now that his companions had ceased to defy the spirits of the lake and had turned towards home, he displayed no more fear or hesitation. He was unusually talkative and cheerful, and helped to pass the long hours by relating the interesting experiences of his varied and adventurous life and all the Ojibwa tales and myths he knew, many of them devoted to the adventures and mishaps of the great Nanabozho.

The three made use of every device they could think of to keep up their spirits, but when, at last, the sleet and snow ceased, and morning dawned clear and bright, the two lads were weak with hunger, and Ronald, though more heavily dressed than Jean, had a racking cough that shook him from head to foot. Nangotook showed the effects of privation less than the other two, though he had scarcely eaten his share of the scanty food they had been able to collect.

The wind still blew a gale, a bitterly cold gale from the north, and even the little bay was too rough for travel. Icy snow lay several inches deep in the woods and loaded the evergreens. All that day the three searched the woods and ridges for game, but obtained nothing but a squirrel and two blue jays. There was little indeed to the jays, once their feathers were off. Nangotook put them into the bark pot with the squirrel, and added a handful of hazelnuts and some tubers he had dug, which he called “bear potatoes.” The resulting broth was hot and comforting, if not a very nourishing meal for three starved men.

All the next day the wind continued to blow so hard that the canoe could not be launched or the net set, but Nangotook and Jean went through the woods and over the ridges to the trout stream, and caught good strings of fish. The soup of the night before had made Ronald, in his half starved condition, ill, and he was so weak and coughed so hard that the Indian bade him remain in camp and keep warm and dry.

In spite of the cold wind, the snow had melted rapidly where the sun reached it, and had softened in the woods. By that night the rocks and open places were bare again. The hunters scanned the softened snow eagerly for tracks, but found no signs of hare or caribou, nothing but a few squirrel prints.

All three slept soundly that night, after their meal of broiled trout. By morning the wind had gone down and the waves had subsided so that the canoe could be launched. The voyageurs put out from shore at once. After setting their net in a favorable place, they tried line fishing. While paddling around a group of three small islands that lay in a direct line with the point, they caught two good lake trout. They promptly decided to go ashore, and have breakfast at once. So many rocks sprinkled the water about the islands that they were difficult to approach. A safe landing was made, however, on a shelving rock beach, near an upright heap of boulders with bushes projecting from cracks and crannies.

While Jean was cleaning the fish, Etienne and Ronald, seeking for fire-wood, rounded the heap of rocks, and came suddenly on the remains of a camp. Branches slanted against the rock formed a rude shelter, and near it were the ashes of a fire. Glancing down at the blackened embers, Ronald touched with the toe of his moccasin a charred bone.

“Those fellows had more meat than we’ve seen lately,” he said. “They must have killed a caribou.”

The Indian was staring down at the bone. He stooped and picked it up, examined it a moment, and then held it out to Ronald.

“No addick ever had bone like that,” he said.

“What was it then, a moose?” asked the boy, holding out his hand for it. As he looked at it, his expression of curiosity changed to horror. He glanced up at Nangotook, and saw his own feelings reflected on the Ojibwa’s face. “The leg bone of a man,” the lad said chokingly.

Nangotook nodded, then glanced behind him swiftly, as if expecting to see some evil thing creeping up on him. “Windigo,” he said significantly. It was the name for the mythical, man-eating giants that figure in Ojibwa and other Algonquian legends, a name the Indians have extended to apply to all cannibals or men driven by starvation to feed on other human beings.

There was no mistaking the fact. Among the ashes and strewn about on the ground were other bones that told the story only too plainly. Moreover the deed was a recent one, for the fire had been burning in that spot since the storm cleared, and the charred bones had not lain there long. It was easy enough to see how the tragedy had occurred. A canoe had been cast upon the barren island by the storm, or had run against it in the fog that preceded. There was nothing on the island to eat. Even fuel had been scarce, for only the stumps of the few trees remained and most of the bushes had been cut. One of the men had died, or perhaps another one, crazed with hunger and misery, had murdered him, and the unfortunate had been cooked and eaten.

The horror of the place destroyed the lads’ appetite, and they were in haste to get away, but Nangotook was not ready to leave until he had examined the little rock island from end to end. He may have expected to find the cannibal in hiding somewhere. He did not find the guilty man, but he found further traces of him and of his victim. When the Ojibwa rejoined the boys, who, feeling no desire to see more of the island, had remained near the spot where they had landed, his face wore a look of disgust and loathing such as they had never seen there before. He had identified the victim of the cannibal feast.

“Cree killed Awishtoya and ate him,” he announced positively.

“Awishtoya, Le Forgeron,” cried Jean. “How do you know it was Le Forgeron?”

“Found his head.”

“His head?” gasped both boys.

Nangotook nodded. “Not dead long, only two or three days,” he added. “Found some of his clothes too, all soaked with blood. Cree killed him with knife. Windigo. Have to watch out for him now.” The Ojibwa shared the belief common among his people that a man who had once tasted human flesh acquired a desire for it, and would never be satisfied with anything else. Such men were considered to be only partly human, in league with evil spirits. They were outlaws, to be feared and abhorred and killed on sight, like the deadliest snake or the most dangerous of wild beasts.

Sickened at what they had discovered, the two boys were glad to get away from the ill-omened place. Le Forgeron Tordu was an evil man and their enemy. They knew that he would not have hesitated to destroy them in the most brutal manner, and they could not honestly feel sorrow that he was dead. But the manner of his death had shocked and nauseated them. Not to the worst man on earth could they have wished such a fate. Even stronger was their feeling of horror at the Indian who had done the thing. Nangotook had said that Le Forgeron abused the Cree. Evidently the latter had turned at last and had avenged himself. He had not struck in mere self-defense, however, for the blood-soaked shirt Nangotook had found proved that the Frenchman had been stabbed in the back.

The Ojibwa was deeply concerned over the escape of the murderer. He must have gone away by water, so it was evident that he still had a canoe, probably the one Le Forgeron had stolen from Jean and Ronald, when he set fire to the woods. Apparently then it had not been the loss of their boat, but merely the fury of the storm that had held him and his master prisoners on the little island. If, however, they had been so near to starvation as the Cree’s deed seemed to prove, they must in some way have lost both the caribou meat the Blacksmith had taken from the boys’ cache, and the remainder of their own stock of provisions. Probably they had run on the rocky island in the fog, or had been dashed ashore by the wind, and had lost their provisions and equipment in the wreck, though managing to save their canoe. There was no evidence that they had built a new one. Indeed the stumps of the trees they had cut indicated that no materials fit for canoe making grew on the island.

At any rate the Cree had escaped in some way, and might be at that moment lying in wait for the others on the shores of the bay or on one of the islands. They must keep a close lookout for him. The boys, as well as Nangotook, fully believed that, having once eaten human flesh, the Cree would, as all such Windigos were supposed to do, hunger for more. They devoutly hoped that he had no gun. Had it not been for the fear that he might be well armed, they would have searched the shores and islands for him, but he would surely have the advantage, as they must approach his hiding place by water, while he could lie concealed. If he had a gun, he could easily shoot them from cover. So they decided to waste no time on what would probably be a fruitless, if not a fatal, search, but to take advantage of the good weather to go on as rapidly as possible. Very likely he had left the neighborhood. They might overtake him, and if they did, a Windigo could expect no mercy from them.

They delayed only long enough to cook and eat their fish and to take up their net. Before their gruesome discovery, they had intended to remain at the bay to hunt and fish until the next morning, but so far they had found the place lacking in game. They would go on along shore as far as they could that day, and perhaps they might reach a better hunting ground. At least they would get away from the spot where they had suffered so much. It had acquired an added horror from the hideous tragedy on the little island.