Four Flush Island

Taranaki Daily News, 11 April 1935, Page 15

Four Flush Island

CHAPTER XXIII (continued,)

“What about Johnnie Bill?” she ask-

ed. “Why, we’ll take him along, of course, Betty said. “But do you think it’s safe?” Natalie asked anxiously, and Betty’s eyebrows arched almost to a semi-circle. “If it’s that hidden treasure, you’re thinking of, forget it,” she said decidedly. “There isn’t any. After the third degree examination we put the shack to, Kit must be plumb crazy even to think of it.” Natalie felt herself flushing. The implied criticism of Kit was not to her taste. “If there’s nothing here, she saia, “why are those people so keen to get the island?” In a way that Natalie observed before when discussion went adversely, Betty switched to a different issue. "If it’s Platt and Stagsden who re worrin’ you,” she said with even more decision than before, "you can forget them too. If they’d been around the locality we should ’ave had ’em knockm on the old front door before this. You can take it from me that when Pearce didn’t come back from his last visit Stagsden got scared, put Platt wise, and that by now they’re just dim specks on the skyline . . . Unless of course they re wise that Kit and Tim are out gunnin ’em, in which case they’re well over the border,” ~ She spoke so confidently that Natalie was more than half assured. Johnnie Bill, however, was not so confident. At first he refused definitely to leave tho island, and in this Betty placed her m a particularly invidious position. “You come or not r.s you like, Johnnie. Bill,” she said with a flush of anger. “But Miss Wayne and I are going, anyThe Cree turned a slow but penetrating glance towards Natalie, a glance that was a mixture of question and understanding. It was as if he realised her difficulty in supporting him. "I go where” —he indicated Natali® with a gesture—“the lady goes.” “Thank you, Krispamsis,” said Natalie quietly, and knew he understood her use of the name.

They set off immediately after breakfast the next morning, the Indian steering, the two girls amidships. The lake was unusually calm, the air stimulating. The sense of freedom was grateful. “Crawfish Island,” as Betty had christened their destination, was reached about ten. They beached their canoe, landed the grub-box and utensils, and at once set off for the shell-fish.

The catch was good, but so widely distributed that by noon, they had waded a good, mile and a half from their starting place, and were well round the curve of the island. Tired and overheated, Betty called to Natalie, who was slightly behind her: “Say, I’m that hungry my inside thinks my throat’s on strike,” she said feelingly. “What about getting back for a bite of lunch?” Johnnie Bill, ten yards behind, said: “I got grub right here,” and pointed to the haversack he wore suspended about his shoulder.

“Good for you, Johnnie Bill!” said Natalie, for she had not welcomed the thought of the long tramp to the canoe over the heavily sanded beach. They waded ashore, lighted a fire, and lunched regally on some of the morning’s catch,’ tea and canned peaches. Then they smoked cigarettes in the sun for half an hour, and about two o’clock, replenishing their baskets as they went, began the wade back to their starting point. Suddenly the Indian stopped dead in his stride. “What is it, Johnnie Bill?” Natalie asked quickly, for there was something in his action that struck a note of warning. The Cree pointed down the lake in the direction from which they had come that morning.

“Look!” he said. She followed the indication of his hand and saw, low against the sky-line where the river joined the lake, a tiny dark patch. Then, as her eyes sought to penetrate the distance, it was as if there was a second and smaller dot to the rear of the first. Even as she stood, there came across the sounding-board of the lake, the muted pulsation of an outborad engine. As the sound reached her she saw the Indian’s tense figure stiffen. “Going—or coming?” she asked quick-

said, turning his Read sharply: “Going. They just switched on the engine. Paddling before.” Instinctively Natalie’s eyes turned to the point where their own canoe had bpen beached. CHAPTER XXIV. THE STOLEN CANOE. Betty dashed through the shallow water to the beach. Natalie followed, and so, more leisurely, did the Cree. There was no mistake. Though grubbox and what small utensils Johnnie Biff had not taken with him were piled where they had been left, a deeper path worn in the sand was all the sign of the canoe. •— They stood gazing blankly at each other until the Indian joined them. He said nothing for a moment; contented himself with an intensive regard of footmarks indented in the sand. One pair on each side of the way worn by the canoe confirmed their fears.

(by L. C. Douthwaite)

“Two men,” he said. “One big, one light.” “Platt and Stagsden,” Betty pronounced confidently. “Paddled up from one of the other islands as soon as we’d rounded the bend, swiped the canoe, and paddled away until it didn’t matter about switching on the engine.” Natalie considered for a moment, “Why the delay in doing that?” she asked. “Once they were twenty yards from shore we’d no chance of getting them, anyway.” Betty nodded. “No, but we might have glasses,” she said, “and before risking the engine they wanted to get clear out of range so we shouldn’t be able to swear to ’em. That was Platt’s idea; he was never one to take chances. That’s why he’s been able to get away with the kind of life he’s been living.” This going to confirm Natalie’s own impression, she said nothing. Indeed there was nothing she could say that would help a situation she recognised was desperate. They were marooned on an island that was right out of the beaten track. Only once every few months were the lakes as far North-east as this disturbed by traffic, and then only by some trapper or prospector to or from some optimistic venture in the Barren Lahds. Even then there was the likelihood he might pass in the night. There was no need to be concerned about food; besides fish that could be caught as fast as a line could be thrown into the water, there were partridges to be brought down with the improvised bow and arrow with which even to-day the nomadic Indian is a deadly shot, and wild fruit in • abundance on the island. If the worst came to the worst the longest they would haye to remain would be until ‘freeze-up,’ when they could tramp the ice to the nearest settlement.

Nevertheless the prospect of three months on an uninhabited island was not exhilarating. To Natalie the most galling thought was that the enemy would have the free run of her island. She hated to be beaten, and more than defeat she hated being beaten by Platt and Stagsden. In that estimate of the length of their marooning, however, she had not calculated upon Johnnie Bill. On his own ground there are few circumstances that an Indian cannot overcome. She turned to speak in time to see him disappearing between the trees at their back. Betty, who had followed him with a slightly indignant glance said, rather petulentlv: “And what in Sam Hill does that Cree think he’s doing—leaving us like that?” It was curious, .Natalie thought, that she, a stranger to the North and its conditions, should have a far better knowledge of this Indian than had Betty. She could not have put her understanding into words; it was too intuitive to reduce to formula. But while she accepted that Johnnie Bill’s action had for its motive something designed to help them, Betty had flown instantly to a different conclusion. The thought was in no way disloyal; she knew Betty for as true a soul as ever Canada could produce. It just happened that way. It was not long before her own faith was justified. Only a few minutes passed before the sound of breaking twigs announced the Indian’s return. If Natalie gasped audibly at his appearance there was justification. Apart for a loincloth he was naked. But only for a second could she find anything startling in this. Once she had overcome her surprise, it came to her that this compact steel-wire figure with the lithe free muscles rippling beneath the dull bronze skin, was far more close to the Great Intention than when bedecked in the shabby drabness of semi-civilisation. Johnnie Bill could not have shed his natural dignity; it was proof even against khaki breeches and canvas shirt. But now, as he stood framed against the dark green and brown of the wood,' he was regal. It was Betty’s voice that broke in upon these subconscious impressions, and not, Natalie thought, too- fittingly. “Say, what’s the big idea, Johnnie Bill?” she jerked rather shrilly, “standing around here in your birthday suit? He looked at her gravely, but when he spoke it was to Natalie. “Wait,” he said quietly. “I fetch canoe.” He counted on his fingers. “1 come back in seven hours.” Natalie said breathlessly: “What are you going to do, Johnnie Bill?” “I swim,” he said, and, trotting down the beach, waded to deep water. She turned a white face to Betty, who was staring fascinatedly at the figure which, once the water reached, swimming depth, struck out with strong overarm strokes in the direction of the mainland a couple of miles away. “If that isn’t the artful old Cree! Betty exclaimed. Then, observant of Natalie’s consternation: “Don’t you see?” “No,” Natalie said. “I don’t.”

Betty pointed. “It’s two miles or so to the shore. Johnnie Bill could swim that with his hands and feet tied. When he gets there he’ll follow the beach ’till he comes opposite Fourflush Island, then he’ll take to the water again.” For a swimmer as strong as the Cree not only was the plan feasible, but one that with ordinary luck was certain of success. So far as reaching the island was concerned, ai all events. “But what will he do when he gets there?” she asked.

Betty shrugged her shoulders. (To be continued.)