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Title: The Kingdom of the Sun. A Romance of the Far West Coast.
Author: Stephen, Alexander Maitland (1882-1942)
Date of first publication: 1927
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London & Toronto: J. M. Dent, 1927
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 12 December 2012
Date last updated: 12 December 2012
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1021

This ebook was produced by Al Haines and Mark Akrigg






  THE
  KINGDOM
  OF THE SUN

  A ROMANCE OF THE
  FAR WEST COAST



  A. M. STEPHEN




  _London & Toronto_
  J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
  1927




_All rights reserved_

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN




INTRODUCTION

On the British Columbia Coast there exists a tradition regarding the
"fair-haired" Haidas.  It is said that, within the tribe, there existed
until quite recently a number of natives whose hair was of a golden or
reddish-brown colour.  These warriors of the North Pacific are
sufficiently remarkable without the added interest which might be
derived from such a legend.  In appearance, the Haidas are distinctly
superior to the Salish and the Kwakiutls who inhabit the adjacent
shores, while their language differs radically from that of their
neighbours.  To a student of comparative mythology they present
interesting problems.  Their cosmogony links them with the Aztecs, the
Mayas and Quiches of Central America and, consequently, with the
Egyptian, Etruscan and Pelasgian Greek civilisations, which flourished
in prehistoric ages beside the Mediterranean.  However, the
"fair-haired" Haidas give rise to speculations upon more recent events
than the beginnings of their mythology or religion.  It seems highly
improbable that the British Columbia Coast remained unvisited by
Europeans previous to the voyages of Cook, Meares and Vancouver or to
the recorded explorations of the later Spanish adventurers.

The author has had the privilege of many years of residence in British
Columbia, close acquaintance with the life of the natives, personal
friendships with members of the tribes, and is firmly convinced that
the historian, the anthropologist and the creative artist have still
much to do on the Far West Coast.  Picturesque in themselves, possessed
of a mythology quite as interesting as that of any European people,
living in surroundings of matchless beauty and grandeur, the British
Columbia Indians should furnish a background for a distinctive Canadian
literature.  _The Kingdom of the Sun_ merely embodies a suggestion of
the romantic interest attached to these strange peoples who are
evidently the perishing fragments of a very ancient civilisation.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.

  INTRODUCTION

  I.  A Gentleman Adventurer
  II.  The Spanish Main
  III.  A Pagan Princess
  IV.  In Drake's Bay
  V.  A Passage-at-Arms
  VI.  The King's Jewel
  VII.  Deliverance by Sword
  VIII.  Storm and Stress
  IX.  More Mysteries
  X.  The Straits of Anian
  XI.  On Savage Shores
  XII.  Northern Magic
  XIII.  Among the Haidas
  XIV.  Hunting the Sea Otter
  XV.  Totems
  XVI.  In the Borderland
  XVII.  Light and Darkness
  XVIII.  The Gathering of the Wolves
  XIX.  Beleaguered
  XX.  The Kingdom of the Sun
  XXI.  The Altar




THE KINGDOM OF THE SUN




CHAPTER I

A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER

On the evening of 12 December, 1577, the little squadron of Sir Francis
Drake, refitted and seaworthy once more, was ready to leave Plymouth
Sound.  For almost the space of a month the captains had fumed while
they drowned their impatience in sack and malmsey at the inn on the
Hoe.  It was darkly hinted that Papish witchcraft and sorcery had not a
little to do with the disastrous storm which had driven the fleet back
upon English shores and, to Devonshire minds, this was quite
acceptable, the West country being the home of warlocks, witches and
pixies since the earliest times when Briton and Saxon disputed
possession of the land.

Now, however, there was a tense atmosphere of expectancy and enthusiasm
pervading every nook of the winding, dingy streets of old Plymouth.
There were eager hands that would have let the bells of St. Andrew's
peal out jubilantly had there not been the prohibiting fear of Romish
spies.  Besides, every townsman knew that it was the desire of their
great captain that he should slip silently away to sea.  Even until the
hour when the last light of sunset had faded from the green slopes of
Mount Edgecumbe and the rugged heights of Staddon, the waterfront was
thronged by citizens old and young, who watched the _Pelican_ and her
sister ships with pride in their eyes and bravado in the voices which
talked of her gallant crew.  Finally, darkness and a gathering fog
blotted the Sound and the shipping from sight.  The crowd dispersed.

One man alone remained after all the others had gone.  Wrapped in a
thick cloak which protected him against the chilling mists, he leaned
heavily upon the low wall overlooking the harbour.  A few of the last
stragglers turned to look questioningly at him.  One old, white-haired
gaffer, indeed, paused while shuffling away to point to the solitary
figure with his cane.  To a belated companion he whispered:

"There a' be.  He'm breakin' his heart a-wishin' mun was aboord."

A slight movement of the man by the sea-wall sufficed to cut short the
old man's remarks.  Laying his hand upon his comrade's sleeve, the
inquisitive one quickened his hobbling steps and faded into the
darkness.

It may have been that the man had overheard the words of the elderly
gossip, or again, it may have been that the cold had interrupted his
reverie.  He suddenly drew himself erect and, wrapping his cloak more
closely about him, began to pace along the greensward within the line
of the wall.  He was apparently oblivious of the fact that his low
shoes were now wet through and that the fog, gathering thickly upon his
cape, had made it but a damp and soggy covering.

A scene, bright and astir with life, was in complete possession of his
thoughts.  He was living over the hours just passed when he had formed
part of the brilliant, noisy crowd in the old inn near by.  He could
still feel the pressure of the iron hand of England's foremost sailor
upon his shoulder and could feel the fire of the grey, dauntless eyes
which had searched his soul.  He could even hear the tenderness in the
rough voice which had said:

"Eh, Master Anson, it's not I will have in question your right to
remain where you are.  If any would cast an eye, my sword would drink
his blood as easily as it would that of a Don.  But, lad, there are
gossiping tongues and I'm tellin' 'ee it's in action we'm best to bury
the past."

Under the kindly grip of that hand the voices of the drawers and the
potboys, the captains and the cadets, had suddenly sounded dim and more
distant until all had been stilled.  In imagination, he was standing
with his captain in a bower set in a "goodly and great tree," upon a
green-clad spur in the Cordilleras.  Below them the verdure of the
tropics stretched like a wave on a shoreless sea until, to eastward and
to westward, it merged into the sparkling blue reaches of two oceans.
Richard Anson heard again the voice of the man beside him beseeching
Almighty God of His goodness to give him life and leave to sail once in
an English ship in that sea.  The ardour of adventurous youth had
thrilled once more to the call of romance.

The golden lure of the Spanish Main, which was the heart's desire of
all the merchant adventurers, held him in its power.  To exalt the true
faith and to establish the supremacy of England on the seas was to him,
as to all true Englishmen in his day, the high privilege and duty of a
gentleman.  Yet, while his pulses bounded and his being stirred under
the sea-magic of his captain's touch, there had risen within him a
chilling numbness which had suddenly checked his desire to clasp
Drake's hand and to risk all with him again in the great adventure.

For to Richard Anson, life bereft of love was as Dead Sea fruit.
Behind his ardent patriotism, his manly love of great odds and the lure
of uncharted seas, had glowed devotion to an ideal.  Willingly would he
have faced the embattled powers of the world, of Spain and the devil,
if, returning, he could have laid his laurels at the feet of the one
woman.  But she, for whom he had adventured under perilous skies, was
now a memory.  A few short weeks ago he had walked with her through the
lovely scenery of the Tamar, building fond visions of a home wherein
she might reign while he was fighting England's enemies.  Then, a
sudden chill--"a wind from out of a cloud"--had prostrated her.  The
crude medicine of the day had sought without avail to check the
disease.  She had passed out and with her departed the light of his
life.  Plunged into an agony of separateness, he had been for awhile in
grave danger of losing his mind.  In vain his comrades of the fleet had
striven to allay the darkness of his mood.  He avoided them until, upon
the eve of the departure of the squadron, he surprised them all by
appearing at the inn.  Their hopes revived.  He would come with them
and, in adventures on the high seas, forget the blow which Fortune had
dealt him.  However, they had been disappointed.  He had bidden them
all god-speed.  When the hour for embarkation arrived Master Anson
remained ashore.

The fog had cleared away somewhat and the moonlight, struggling from
behind dun banks of cloud, lay in silvery patches upon the grey
sea-wall and the black waters of the harbour.  Richard was still
engaged in his solitary pacing to and fro.  Centred as he was in
himself, he was unaware of a strange object approaching him.  It would
have been hard to ascertain whether it was the form of man or woman
which, sliding from among the shadows cast by the walls of the inn, now
moved silently towards him.  Clothed in black it was, its steps upheld
by a rude staff, while, for further support, a bony hand crept
uncannily along the top of the low stone wall.  When Master Anson's
eyes first lighted upon the weird figure, he was for the moment
undecided whether to stand or fly.  In the fact there is no reflection
upon his bravery.  In that day superstition was part and parcel of the
thinking of the most intelligent men.  To meet the devil in broad
daylight was what might happen to any honest gentleman.  How much more
likely to meet him on a dark night when there were unwonted doings
afoot!

A chilliness, not to be accounted for by the night wind, took
possession of Richard so that his hand trembled upon his sword-hilt.
In a hoarse voice he bade the apparition stand.  No answer was
forthcoming from the form which glided nearer to him.  Then it was that
panic seized the man as it will the boldest at times.  The moonlight
flashed upon the blade of his drawn rapier.  The cloak enveloping the
head and shoulders of the spectral figure was thrown aside and
Richard's blade was arrested in the act to strike.

"Kate-o'-the-Mill!  Thank God who has held my hand!"

As he looked into the face of the woman so nearly his victim his
superstitious fear was in no whit abated, although his sword returned
to its scabbard.  Since early childhood she had been a familiar figure
in his dreams of evil fortune.  Meeting her upon some lonely road when
a boy he had oftentimes fled in terror to his mother's arms, shaken by
the sight of her wild eyes and cruelly twisted features.  What stroke
of Satanic fate had blighted her youthful beauty and had turned her
into a thing of dread was known to few and they, through fear, had held
their peace.  Her black eyes, filled with an unearthly fire, were
holding him now.  She brushed aside a damp, grey wisp of hair which had
fallen across her brow.

"Aye, Kate-o'-the-Mill, young master.  Nay, why should mun tremble like
a leaf in the wind?  Is it a woman's face would stay the swoord that
should be batin' the bloody Spaniards off the seas?"

A quick spasm of pain whitened the man's lips.

"Woman--have a care!  That taunt may no man fling and live to tell of
it.  On my own head be it to bide or go, as I will.  Say--what is it to
thee what Richard Anson does with the life that is his own, under God,
to keep or to cast away?"

Richard could hear the throbbing of his own blood in the silence which
followed.  The soft lapping of the waves upon the beach sounded like
the heavy surge of billows beating in time to his own heart.  The harsh
voice of Kate-o'-the-Mill was oddly feminine--had even something in it
which stirred the man in him strangely, as she quavered:

"Aye.  Iss?  What is't to me, then?  Down from the glens, thro' the
mire, withouten sup or bite, wi' the dogs at my heels, I ha' come.
Why?  Wi' a message!  No devil it was but the good Lord o' gloory sent
her ladyship to old Kate wi' the word in mun's mouth."

Was it wild-fire caught from the eyes of the old soothsayer that
glistened in Master Anson's own, as he gazed at her?  His voice was
low, awed by the mystery of the night, the woman and his own great love.

"Speak on--in God's name!"

"Covered wi' the gloory o' the sun, she was!  A blessed angel comed to
earth, and the light o' mun will guide old Kate's footsteps till she'm
buried in the glen.  Shinin' like the sun, she was!  Iss.  An' says
she, 'Tell Master Richard that his love is not here.  She bides in the
far seas.  If he be true and brave--if his love be great enough--he
will find her in the Kingdom of the Sun.'  Aye, master, an' mun kissed
old Kate--old Kate, I'm tellin' ye--an' I minded naught else while I
was paddlin' thro' mire, up hill and down dale, to find ye!"

"In the Kingdom of the Sun!..."  Master Anson was rapt from the sense
of the scene which the moon was lightening for his earthly eyes.  On a
gallant galleass, with a foaming wake behind her, he was careening over
sunlit seas.  Warm, spicy airs blew about him from off shores heavy
with strange verdure and flowers of rainbow hue.  Waves sparkled and
danced away to the far horizon where the sun was setting.  As he gazed
into the fiery depths to westward, a wind from over the ocean's rim
flowed about him, filling his being with unutterable desire.  The
nameless hire of a great adventure held him in its thrall.  While
breath was in him he would sail in unending quest of what called to him
as something priceless beyond anything life had brought to his hand.

The man shook himself free from his dreaming.  With gruff kindliness,
he pressed a purse into the hands of the old woman.

"Get thee warmed, mother.  It's a chill night for thy old bones to be
abroad.  Nay, no thanks.  There's enough therein to keep thee, if thou
fend it, till God take thee in charge.  There's a-plenty more where I'm
bound."

The crone stood fumbling the coins in the sack which Richard had given
her.

"May God keep ye, Master Richard!  But--whither are ye bound, then?"

Anson placed one hand upon the shoulder of Kate-o'-the-Mill.  With the
other he pointed into the fog-bank screening the shipping in the Sound.

"By God's grace, where all good English hearts should be.  I pray that
it may not be too late."




CHAPTER II

THE SPANISH MAIN

Silence and mystery have a communicable spell not easily translated
into words.  All have felt the delicious, indefinable thrill preceding
a storm.  But it is not given to the ordinary man, in the humdrum of
existence, to be shaken by the dread of the unknown or the ecstasy of
great adventures.  However, aboard a certain ship, on the night of
Saturday, 4 April, in the year of our Lord 1578, there was cause
a-plenty for the excitement incident to a new hazard.  The _Pelican_,
which some months previously had slipped quietly away from English
shores, had become the _Golden Hind_ of immortal memory.  Readers may
pursue, in the quaint narrative of Hakluyt, the terrors and
vicissitudes of Drake's perilous entry into the Spanish Main.  They may
project themselves in imagination into the limited minds of Elizabethan
sailors, haunted by fear of sorcery and witchcraft, just emerging from
the narrow boundaries of the world so recently enlarged by the
discoveries of Columbus and Cabot.  With these God-fearing and
dauntless hearts they may experience the nameless horrors of the Terra
Demonum, the tragedy of St. Julian's Bay, the terrible passage of the
Straits of Magellan.  They will then be ready to appreciate the
marvellous heroism of the crew which was now sailing in seas as remote
from their accustomed shores as the canals of Mars would be to a modern
sailor.

Now, about a ten days' run from Aguatulco, the moonlight had discovered
for them a Spanish galleon of goodly size, leisurely moving southward
secure in the belief that it was safer than if resting beneath the
shore batteries of Cadiz.  Silently, with men concealed and decks
cleared for action, the English adventurers were bearing down upon the
unsuspecting vessel.  In the wake of the _Hind_ they were towing a
frigate captured in Coronado Bay, to which they had temporarily
transferred some of their cargo and heavy guns.  An unwilling spectator
of its country's ravishment, it was being dragged like a dog at the
heels of its master.

In the black shadows of the mainmast of the _Hind_ one man was standing
in apparent disregard of the order for concealment.  Master Anson,
aloof as usual from the company of his fellow-officers, had, for
reasons of his own, remained where he was after all preparations for
action had been made.  Wiser it would have been, indeed, to do as the
others had done, for already he was a marked man among his mates.
Wrapped always in his own thoughts, in the crew but not of it, by
reason of his preoccupation with day-dreams, he had eventually shaken
even the confidence of his beloved captain.  In the confines of a ship,
where personality is subjected to constant friction, likes and dislikes
flourish as weeds in favourable soil.  Unquestioning loyalty Richard
had from several of the simple-minded men of Devon who were sailors
before the mast, but, from the cadets and officers, nothing but
suspicion and hatred had been his meed.

This was partially due to Master Anson's persistent refusal to share
the communal life of the gentlemen adventurers.  Obsessed by the idea
that his personal share in the whole enterprise was something apart
from the common, having to do with the fulfilment of the prophecy of
Kate-o'-the-Mill, he had never shaken off the mood which possessed him
on the night when the _Pelican_ had sailed from Plymouth Sound.  He
remained at all times taciturn and silent within his own dark world of
imagination, misunderstood and careless of the widening breach between
himself and the others.  Far-fetched as the suspicion might be, at the
time when Drake had been forced to sacrifice Leicester's secretary at
St. Julian's Bay there were many who held to the opinion that Richard
Anson was involved in the intrigues of the Court and was secretly of
Doughty's party.

State politics had sent Drake upon the voyage and the atmosphere aboard
his ship was tense at times with hints of treachery.  Little cause had
the great captain to mistrust his old shipmate who would have died for
him without question.  But, since the execution of Master Doughty, he
had been strangely testy in matters affecting his authority and more
given to taking council with those who brought him tales.  Close in his
confidence reposed Vicary, "crafty lawyer of the Temple."  Greedy,
filled with cowardly lusts, this fellow had fallen foul of Master Anson
on many occasions.  Knowing well that Richard hated him and suspected
him of double-dealing, he was the more willing to hide his own
disloyalty to Drake by drawing suspicion towards another.
Instinctively the materialist hated the dreamer.  Vicary's small, legal
mind was irritated by the complacent superiority and indifference of
Anson, who was above boot-licking and care for his personal advancement.

Now to the man, whose imagination was turning the moonshine into the
radiance of a sea where dreams are golden freight, came a faithful old
salt from Bideford, minded to do him a favour.  Richard started when he
felt his arm plucked by the seaman.

"Get ye below, Master Richard.  I'm tellin' 'ee, old John has eyes.
Master Vicary is wi' the general.  I see'd mun slidin' into the cabin.
Best ye are there yourself."

There was no patronage in the tone of Anson's reply to the sailor.
This quality had endeared him to the humbler members of the ship's
company.  He smiled as he said:

"Back to your place, man, before they have you by the heels.  But, you
are in the right.  I will attend to Master Vicary."

Without hesitation or further words, Richard left his day-dreaming and
went directly to the general's cabin.  Needless it would be to burden
the reader with a description of Drake's private quarters, furnished as
chronicles tell us "with divers shows of all curious workmanship" in
order to uphold the prestige and magnificence of his native England in
foreign eyes.  Standing at the opposite end of the cabin when Master
Anson entered was the sturdy figure of the great sea-captain.  As was
his custom before an encounter, the general was dressed in his most
elaborate finery, but the luxurious effeminacy of his costume in no way
detracted from the virility and dauntless energy expressed by the
square face, the thick, firm lips and the bullet-head broad-based upon
shoulders uncommonly wide.  Through the slashed sleeves of his crimson
doublet shone the fine texture of a shirt of lawn embroidered in
coloured silks, while a plumed velvet cap dangling gracefully from his
shoulders was fastened by a brooch set with a brilliant emerald.

Beside him, in a neat-fitting but somewhat faded suit of black velvet,
was the person of the oily Vicary.  His loose, sensual lips hardly
concealed by a straggling beard of straight black hair, the sallow and
unhealthy skin puffed under shifting eyes of muddy brown, were true
tokens of the man within.

Uncovering, Richard moved quickly forward until he stood directly
before his enemy.  Beside his tall, spare form and finely chiselled
features, the attorney looked even more gross than usual.  If truth
were told, in contrast with the open countenance and blunt honesty of
the square-jawed commander or the fineness of Anson, Master Vicary
appeared like some fat, unwholesome spider.  That he had been engaged
in web-spinning was apparent, for Richard was cut by the brusqueness of
Drake's greeting.

"How now, Master Anson, will you continue to strain our affection for
your many good parts?  Our orders were plain and easy to understand.
Yet you linger upon deck in full sight of our enemies."

"I crave pardon, general.  My mind may take me far afield at times but
when you have need of my sword it is here."

As he spoke Richard caught a look in Vicary's eye which irritated him.
He continued:

"I repeat, advisedly, my sword, general.  There be some fellows more
clever with a pen."

Vicary's lip curled contemptuously.  There was a world of repressed
hatred in his words.

"I do protest.  This is a cheap argument, my general.  Slitting throats
may not be my trade but I am used to adjudging a case upon its merits
and the evidence."

Richard had every reason to suspect that the lawyer had been carrying
tales.  Moreover, he was certain that Vicary was disloyal to the whole
enterprise of the _Golden Hind_, but he had no proof of it.  Foolishly
he let his feelings master him.  His hand went to his sword-hilt.

"By God, there is one throat I know were better slit for the good
report of this voyage!"

Sir Francis stepped quickly between the two men.  Simultaneously with
his action there was heard the clattering report of a volley of
small-shot and the sound of cheering upon the decks without.  With
blade half drawn, the general brushed past the belligerents.

"On deck!  Leave this bickering!  There is work to be done."

At the cabin door there occurred a temporary impasse.  Vicary's bulk
impeded his speedy passage of the entrance.  Unceremoniously, as if he
were so much useless lumber, Richard made to push past him.  With a
snarl the lawyer withdrew, allowing his enemy to precede him.  His
muttered curses pursued Master Anson as he emerged upon the main deck.

The captured frigate had been so manoeuvred as to bring her alongside
the Spaniard's quarter.  Already the English seamen were clambering
over the rail of the doomed ship.  Aboard the _Golden Hind_, every
demi-cannon, cannon-perier and culverin was fully primed and manned.
Drake, surrounded by his officers and gentlemen, was pacing the forward
deck overlooking the scene upon the enemy's vessel, where passengers
and crew, bare-headed and unarmed for the most part, were being hustled
into groups while they were deprived of their side-arms.  By the
magnificence of his dress and his distinguished bearing, it was easy to
single out the commander of the Spanish galleon.  In complete
bewilderment he stood, making no show of resistance to the sailors who
deprived him of his rapier and haled him towards the railing nearest to
the _Hind_.  In a few moments more, Francisco de Zarate was facing the
renowned Drake upon an English deck.

It is an interesting commentary upon the chivalry of the Dons that in
Zarate's report to his master, made at a later date, he was loud in his
praises of the generous treatment accorded to him by his captor.
Drake, having been assured upon the word of a gentleman that the prize
carried no treasure, entertained the Spanish captain royally during the
space of the next few days.  It would be mean to insinuate that because
the English hold was already stuffed with the spoils of the _Cacafuega_
that "El Draque" was indifferent and disposed to courtesy rather than
to pillage.  Let us rather incline to the opinion that in Zarate he
descried a man of honour and treated him as such.

But there were minds less worthy among Drake's company and, of these,
Master Vicary suffered most from disappointment because no pilfering
had ensued after the affair.  He was even secretly disposed to cast sly
aspersions upon the general's judgment whenever the matter was
discussed among the crew.  Trust the word of a lying Don?  Not he!  His
experience with malefactors in the Temple had brought him wisdom.
Besides, his religious zeal doubted not that all Papists were of the
breed of Ananias.  Thus, while Drake sat at meat with Don Zarate and
discussed with him matters of common interest, Vicary went about with a
lowering countenance minded, when opportunity offered, to show all
concerned that it would pay well to search the ship of the Don from
bowsprit to stern.

On the morning of Monday, Drake, in a fully-armed shallop, conveyed Don
Zarate aboard the prize and made it over to him with all due ceremony.
Besides returning to the passengers their personal effects, he
distributed among them and the sailors handfuls of silver coins.
Having done this, he entered into a gracious discourse with the Spanish
commander preparatory to taking his leave of him.  Alongside, the
_Golden Hind_, gay with flags and streamers, made a gallant show while
Drake and his adventurers, arrayed in their best finery, grouped
themselves about the Don in leave-taking.  Truly a chivalrous sight!

The scene was not less cheerful because the evil face of Master Vicary
was missing from among the English company.  He had come aboard the
Spaniard with the others but, taking advantage of the bustle and
confusion, had disappeared upon an errand of his own devising.
Prowling, like a catamount, through the insides of the ship, he had
indeed made a find.  What it was shall now be discovered.

There had just occurred a slight flurry because Drake was determined to
retain one of the prisoners as a pilot to his next watering-place.
Then it was that a sudden, sharp cry drew the attention of all to the
forward hatch.  From it there was emerging the squat form of Master
Vicary.  His grimy hand, extended down into the hatchway, was grasping
an arm so fair and dainty in outline that it seemed that he was engaged
in drawing some white nereid into his foul clutches.  To the abounding
astonishment of all upon deck, there rose, following the lawyer, the
most dazzling form of womanhood that had ever greeted their adventurous
eyes.

For a moment she stood with her arm shielding her eyes from the glare
of the sunshine upon the water.  This instant sufficed to allow the
assembled men to gather some faint picture of her magnificence.  Her
robes were of wine-coloured silk embroidered with arabesquerie of gold
and silver.  In a necklace and a large and curiously designed brooch
which adorned her person, were displayed several jewels of remarkable
size and brilliancy, but most marvellous to the sight of the company
was the fact that her skin was fair, the masses of her abundant hair of
a true golden colour, rich as the lustrous lining of a royal
loving-cup.  Her beauty did not need the adornment of artifice.
Superior rank was stamped upon her every movement rather than in the
emblems of it which she wore.

Silence greeted her appearance.  Breathing was audible.  Unwittingly
the attorney drew men's hatred towards him when his coarse, thick voice
broke the spell.

"My general and gentlemen all, we have here proof that there is no
limit to the deviltry of Spain.  'No treasure have we but my poor plate
and cup,' quoth your Don.  Here, if I mistake not, are gems worth a
king's ransom and the Queen of Eldorado herself."

All eyes shifted to the English commander.  Like any yokel in a
Devonshire lane, he was gaping in bewilderment as blank as that of the
least of the bystanders.  But for a moment only.  His grey eyes flashed
dangerously as he turned to Don Francisco.

"How now, sirrah!  Why have we had no word of this ... passenger?"

Zarate's face betrayed his confusion.

"She is not one of us, your excellency.  As not touching the matter of
treasure belonging to me, I saw not why she should be reported.  By
orders of our viceroy, the Princess Auria is being conveyed to Lima.
This for divers reasons which it were a long tale to relate.  Chiefly,
your excellency, the lady is under restraint because of stirring up
sundry rebellions and disorders among the Indians tending to the
overthrow of our government.  By the natives she is regarded as a
mighty magician and sorceress.  In the ordinary course, she would have
come under the questioning of the Church by reason of her witcheries.
That her death should not be upon our heads, the governor hath
mercifully ordained that she be removed to another part of his
Majesty's dominions.  Who she is we know not, except that she was taken
in the temples of the Indians.  We have held her in Mexico, but under
grievous fear of her evil powers, until such time as we could rid
ourselves of her."

Zarate's hand, which had been playing with the knotted end of his sash,
twitched nervously as he faced the anger of the incensed general.  What
explosion of wrath would have descended upon him is uncertain.  The
maiden's action forestalled Drake's speech.  She wrenched her arm free
from the grasp of Master Vicary.  There was a storm of silken robes and
a patter of flying feet.  Before Master Anson she sank upon the deck,
her white arms clasping him about the knees.  The hot colour surged
into his face as he felt himself to be the centre upon which all eyes
were fixed.  If the ship had parted in twain and the warm waves flowed
in about him at that moment, Richard would have welcomed the relief
from his embarrassment.  Dimly he sensed the question in every mind
about him.  He saw the leer upon the face of Vicary, the amazement upon
the faces of Drake and the Spanish captain.  Helplessly he looked down
upon the regal figure at his feet.  He was powerless to unclasp the
hands which clung to him, unable, too, to cope with the emotions
storming through his being.  He had thought himself dead to all
feelings for womankind.  Yet, in one blinding instant, he knew vividly
that he was a man, unreasoning in his instinct to protect and possess.

As one in a dream, he was aware of the voice of the great commander
inquiring courteously of the woman if it was her desire to be taken
aboard the _Golden Hind_.  To his amazement he heard her answer in
perfect English, "If it so pleases you, my lord."

While the maiden was being lowered into the English shallop, scraps of
the conversation on deck entered his mind which was dazed by the event.
He could not think.  He merely felt.  Drake was speaking:

"She is white.  Perhaps--the Almighty alone knows--she may be of our
kin.  Ye have heard this talk of the questioning of the Church, Mother
of all iniquities!  To this, by God's grace, she shall not be given
over."

In the bustle and stir of leaving the Spanish ship, Master Anson was
silent as usual.  He noted that the general, after a short, sharp
colloquy with Zarate, was the last to put foot in the boat.  In the
bow, with sundry chests containing her property, sat the Princess Auria.

Once aboard the _Hind_, there was more tumult and gossip.  From poop
and stern, dozens of eyes feasted themselves upon the beauty of the
maiden, while tongues clattered and officers swore roundly when
ordering the men to their places.  But not until the princess had
disappeared into a cabin allotted to her by Drake's orders did the work
of setting sail go on apace.

At last, to a merry tune shouted by threescore lusty Devon throats, the
canvas was made ready.  A fair wind from the south-west filled the
sails and, like a bird of paradise gay in her feathers of flags and
bunting, the good ship floated smoothly over the tropic sea.  Upon the
poop, in gay raiment, the waits with violin, sackbut and trumpet played
triumphal music while, in the general's quarters, the gentlemen
adventurers gathered to drink confusion to the enemies of England.

The sun was dipping a golden rim into the ocean to larboard where the
lure of the unknown called from uncharted seas.  As twilight deepened,
a curtain of dark clouds was hung over the sea-line which was itself
plainly marked by a broad belt of deep orange colour.  Against this
red-gold background, the black hull of the released Spanish ship was
limned in silhouette.  Above, the stars, in glittering clusters, began
gradually to dim the yellow light of the lanthorns swinging at the
stern of the _Hind_.

Leaning over the railing of the poop deck, Richard Anson was absorbed
in watching the phosphorescent gleam of the waves swirling in the wake
of the vessel.  The musicians near him were too intent upon their
business of making melody to give heed to him.  Nor did the voices of
the merry-makers below, which floated up to him during the pauses in
the music, serve to draw him out of his reverie.  When a man is
possessed of God or the devil, he is oblivious to the presence of
others, and Master Anson was indeed sore pressed to know why the ice
had suddenly melted from his heart and why the locks of his imprisoned
mind had been as it were by magic loosed and broken.  The stars in the
velvety sky above him held no answer, nor the sea, nor the night wind
trailing softly astern.  Deep within himself he must search for the
meaning of the strange thing which had befallen him.

Witchcraft it must have been, for he trembled at the recollection of a
soft hand upon his knee and the soul of him was still mazed in a golden
glory of hair which swept about his feet.  Had the Spanish captain not
mentioned sorcery and magic?  Had there not been fear in the voice
which told of her great power which had threatened the dominion of
Spain?  What, in God's name, was a white maiden doing among the dusky
tribes of that land of demons and gold?  Again, was not he, Richard
Anson, given over to strange powers and principalities of air and water
by a witch's prophecy?  Not on this earth but in a Kingdom of the Sun
must he seek for surcease of life that was meaningless and empty.
Little these knew who were bound upon a voyage which opened up to the
astonished eyes of the world a new age of freedom--little they knew,
though they were the unwitting agents of the hand which writes history,
of the personal quest that had kept him from joining heart and soul
with them!

Back from the abyss of doubt and fear and mystery which seemed
fathomless as the sea, he withdrew into a realisation of life as it
was.  The concrete mind of him struggled into command.  Was it not a
weakness--a matter of shame--that he, sworn defender of the faith,
should be so easily captured by the wiles of the devil?  Memory came to
him of his mother, God-fearing and gently wise, who had pressed into
his hands a New Testament to be a chart for him upon his first venture
into unknown seas.  Would that he had not left it behind him upon this
voyage!  It might serve him in good stead now.  Leaving the stars, the
sea and his dreams, he descended to the waist of the ship.  There, upon
the gangway, he met old John of Bideford.  He halted the old man to
whisper a charge into his ear:

"John, I liked not the looks which Master Vicary cast upon the maiden
to-day.  I am certain that he means no good to the poor lass whom God
has placed under our protection.  If ye would do me a favour, keep an
eye on him."




CHAPTER III

A PAGAN PRINCESS

No treasure in the hold of the _Golden Hind_, neither plate, silk of
Samarkand nor round doubloons dwelt so constantly in the dreams of
Master Vicary as the white wonder of the girl whom he had haled to the
Spaniard's deck.  He had the soul of a voluptuary enchained by the mind
of a Puritan and it was a combination which caused him uneasy moments.
In general, it was responsible for his irritability, his lust of envy
and his petty meannesses.  His very physical unhealthiness of flesh and
bone betrayed the nature of the inner man, where a seething cauldron of
unappeased desires was lidded and confined by fear and ignorance.  At
the moment, he was in a vile temper with the world.  With hands locked
behind his back and heavy-jowled chin drawn back into his ruff, he was
moodily pacing the forward deck.  Master Anson would have been mightily
interested in that which was passing through the lawyer's mind could he
have descended to picking thoughts as one picks purses.  For to
Richard's undoing tended everything in Vicary's plans for the future.

Looking upon the princess as his prize (if prize she were by the code
of war or piracy), he resented the fact that he had been foiled in
every attempt which he had made to obtain a closer acquaintance with
her in the days following her capture.  A series of incidents, trivial
enough in themselves, had made him aware that she was inaccessible
unless he could procure a warrant from the commander to see her.  He
could devise no pretext for seeking this permission.  Meanwhile, he had
been forced to realise that she was surrounded by a watchful
surveillance of which he finally suspected Master Anson to be the cause.

Only that morning he had donned his best finery and, selecting a bottle
of choice Madeira from his own store, had supplemented it with a pasty
purchased from the ship's cook for a bit of silver.  Laden with these
offerings, Master Vicary made his way to the cabin of the Princess
Auria.  Six paces from her door, a sailor bending over a coil of rope
had suddenly arisen, colliding violently with his person so that the
pasty had been broken and the wine spilled over the front of his velvet
doublet.  Not stopping to offer apologies, the seaman disappeared
through an open hatchway from whence, if Vicary's ears belied him not,
there presently issued loud and immoderate peals of laughter.

This and more of the like had happened whenever he set foot in the
vicinity of the heathen beauty.  He suspected, as has been said, Master
Anson because of certain words, indefinite but significant--certain
liftings of the brows and fleeting smiles, grim and contemptuous, which
he had noted whenever the princess had been mentioned by himself in
company of the ship's officers.

Strange, indeed, are the workings of the mind fed by self-deception.
Having decided upon further means to undermine Master Richard and to
draw upon him the disapproval of his comrades and the captain, he next
betook himself to imagining that he had a duty towards the girl.  It
was only fitting and right that she should be shown the error of her
Papish leanings and of the heathenish superstitions surrounding her in
her native country.  Her soul must be saved--"a brand from the
burning."  By godly conversation she might be led to look kindly upon
the Englishman who had guided her out of darkness into light and into
ways of propriety becoming to a gentlewoman of breeding.

Having settled the matter in his own mind, Vicary sought out the ship's
chaplain.  Master Fletcher was a man to his own liking.  The priest had
been under suspicion for complicity in the intrigues against the
commander but, sinuous as a serpent when grappled, had managed to avoid
justice by retiring behind the cloak of his sanctity.  He avoided the
honest eyes of Drake and kept his person discreetly in the background.
The Temple lawyer was his closest companion.  Him the chaplain fed
daily with the oil of flattery, easily persuading Vicary that his
virtues were certain in time to bring him renown in the councils of the
great.

Master Fletcher listened now with beseeming respect to his solicitude
for the welfare of the princess.

"Mark you, Master Fletcher, it would ill become us who have the true
faith if we were to reserve it for ourselves only.  The Lord has
delivered her into our hands in order that we may lead her into a
knowledge of Him.  Certain it is that whatever good Providence has
implanted in her, the Papish perversions by which she has been
surrounded will have done hurt to her soul.  Here is a task to your
hand.  An I may, I shall accompany you while you exhort with her."

The chaplain waved a deprecatory hand.

"You do me too much honour, Master Vicary.  My poor counsel could avail
but little were it not for God's grace.  The Scriptures will benefit by
your skill in argument.  Has she been baptised according to the Romish
rites?"

"That I do not know.  Some hint I have had from others that, in the
morning hours, she engages in outlandish rites, taking the sun before
we are astir, waving her arms to and fro while she chants in an unknown
tongue.  But she was with the Dons and must, perforce, have been soiled
by their Papistry."

The priest picked up a surplice which lay over a chair at his side and
adjusted it over his habit.

"It is greatly to your credit that you have thus taken thought for the
lady.  It is what I should have expected from your care in other things
for what is of good report, Master Vicary."

Full well Fletcher knew the real reason for the lawyer's interest in
the maiden.  Here was material, if properly handled, which might
advance his own interests considerably.  He needed Vicary's crafty
tongue to wipe from the mind of the commander sundry suspicions in
regard to his own integrity.  He continued:

"What is the nature, suppose you, of the idolatry which she practises?
In these dark lands given over to Satan, it would be strange if
witchcraft and sorcery were not espoused.  Some danger there is in
having her aboard our ship.  I fear that the general took little
account of this when he took her under his protection."

Vicary smiled warily.

"There are things known to us alone, Master Fletcher.  If we win
through to home and country again with whole skins or, indeed, alive,
it will be by the better judgment of those who are not blinded by one
man's mad ambition and who put England's true interests before all
other things.  She is a witch, I have no doubt.  My sleep has of late
been troubled by strange visions and, already, she has affected the
crew, who accord her a worship not due to her position but to her
awesome rites and to her face which is that of an angel of light.  She
hath an alluring manner.  More reason, say I, to know that the devil
lurks beneath her smile."

That Auria was the most beautiful Woman whom they had ever seen meant
to Vicary and Fletcher that she was the most wicked.

"You are right, Master Vicary, you are right.  We must protect our men
against her charms.  What disaster might not a mad infatuation work to
the undoing of us all?  I have heard it rumoured that Master Anson has
fallen under her spell."

"It needed but this," growled the lawyer, "to complete his madness."

"Well, well, Master Vicary, we shall see--we shall see.  No time must
be lost.  Shall we go now to her?  Others will be at meat.  There will
be less likelihood of interruption."

Vicary disliked missing the pleasures of the table in the general's
cabin, but he had too lately put forward his zeal for the things of the
spirit to permit him to temporise.  Inwardly he cursed the lean-visaged
chaplain who ate abstemiously.  His platitude was forced.

"There is no time like the present.  An you will, sir."

Without, the sea was sparkling under brilliant sunshine.  Gulls, like
white fragments of a summer cloud, drifted about in the wake of the
_Hind_, settling at times in her rigging or clamouring noisily as they
fought for place on her rail.  With all canvas spread, the vessel was
making headway towards the unknown seas of the north.

Auria had left her cabin door ajar in order to permit the beauty of the
day a readier entrance.  When the lawyer and the chaplain appeared she
rose from a couch upon which she had been reclining.  A quick flush of
annoyance heightened her colour when the men entered her apartment
without more than a perfunctory bow.  Uncertain of her own position and
not knowing upon what business they might have been sent by the
commander, she hesitated before saying:

"You come unannounced, sirs.  Am I, then, a prisoner without right to
courtesy?"

Vicary, in the lead, did not reply at once.  His eye quickly surveyed
the contents of the room.  To the belongings of the princess which had
been taken from the Spanish ship were added furnishings from Drake's
own cabin, making it a chamber rich and beautiful enough for royalty.
The couch upon which she had been resting revealed snowy linen between
the vertical folds of red velvet curtains broidered with heavy cloth of
gold, while near by a curiously inwrought chest of polished wood
decorated with silver and mother-of-pearl formed, with its silken
drapes and cushions, a comfortable divan.  Over the carven back of a
chair was thrown a gorgeous cloak of the famed Central American
feather-work.  The iridescent hues of a butterfly's wing glittered with
no more brilliant sheen than the many and wonderfully patterned colours
of this robe.  It was of the sort which had been worn by the Mexican
noblemen when they dazzled the eyes of Cortez in the court of Montezuma.

Auria herself, simply clad in a loose garment of light blue, seemed in
every way a spirit of the tropic sea caged temporarily within walls.  A
dull warmth surged turbidly through Master Vicary's veins as his long
glance devoured her beauty.  He bowed again as gracefully as his heavy
frame permitted.  The gesture served to hold his composure which had
been shaken by the cold dignity of the woman before him.

"Madam, your pardon.  We come unannounced, it is true, but with all due
respect.  Master Fletcher, a worthy man who is known for his piety and
discretion, is our chaplain.  He will explain better than I the reason
for our coming."

The princess looked from the uneasy Vicary to where, in his shadow,
stood the gaunt form of Master Fletcher, eyes downcast and hands folded
before him.  Shiny beads of perspiration were gathering upon his
forehead which was high and narrow, set between fringes of sparse grey
hair.  His thin lips were pursed disapprovingly.  He disliked the move
upon the lawyer's part which left him to introduce the subject in hand.
From the folds of his surplice he produced a book.

"As Englishmen, whose blood you would seem to have in your veins, we
cannot help feeling that there are many things pertaining to our
education which you have not known.  Through no fault of your own,
madam!  Bred in these perilous times, in parts remote from the land of
your forefathers, growing up without the grace of the God of your
people, we do not wonder that you took your religion from the lips
nearest to you.  But now, if permitted, we would hold discourse with
you concerning the Scriptures and the miracle of our salvation."

It was a long speech with Auria's cool, grey eyes appraising him and he
breathed as if glad to be through with it.  He avoided meeting her
glance but looked inquiringly at a lustrous jewel which sparkled on her
bosom.  The device of interlaced triangles wrought in dull gold, the
serpent set with precious stones, seemed to savour of sorcery or
cabbalistic talismans.  A somewhat similar pendant he had once admired
in a London shop.  He remembered that the merchant had told him that it
had been the property of a mysterious scholar to whom rumour ascribed a
knowledge of alchemy and the black arts.  From the contemplation of the
brooch he was aroused by the quiet, level tones of the princess.  Her
voice was not unfriendly but, nevertheless, Master Fletcher felt that
he had intruded.  He was irritated by a sudden sense of inferiority.
He felt most miserably small and uncomfortable.

"To whom do I owe this honour?  To General Drake?"

"Nay, it seemed good to us--after holding some discourse regarding the
matter.  We are your kinsmen."

Auria smiled.

"'And now it is true that I am thy near kinsman: howbeit, there is a
kinsman nearer than I.'"  In the depths of her eyes a ray of amusement
sparkled as the priest gazed at her in astonishment.

"Methinks, madam, this hath a familiar sound.  Yet I cannot recall the
book and the line.  Is it not from our holy Scriptures?"

"It is," replied the lady, "from your Scriptures.  Since you have come
to repair my lack, I felt that you would know the text.  Am I to assume
the role of pupil or instructress?"

Discomfited, Master Fletcher looked reproachfully at his companion.

"I was led to believe..."

"What was true, Master Fletcher," snapped the lawyer.  "I have myself
viewed the heathenish practices of which I told you.  However, my lady
may not be in the mood for your sermons at this moment.  Leave her with
me, I pray you.  There are some matters which concern her that needs
must be discussed."

"As you will, sir," answered the chaplain.  "Madam, I crave your pardon
if we have disturbed your rest.  Yet, if it be your pleasure, I should
like to go further into some discourse touching the customs of your
country--but, at some more convenient hour."

"It may be arranged."  Auria extended her hand to the chaplain.  To his
embarrassment, he felt constrained to lift the hand to his lips in
courtier-like fashion.  An indefinable glow flickered in the dull blue
eyes of Master Fletcher as he backed out of the little cabin.  The soul
of the ascetic had been stirred by life.

During the conversation between the girl and the other man, Vicary's
greedy gaze had roved back and forward between the wealth of the
furniture and the womanly charms of the mysterious princess.  He was
moved, but more grossly than Master Fletcher had been.  He felt less of
the awe which had silently flooded the starved soul of his colleague,
but was, nevertheless, amazed and dazzled by the beauty which
confronted him.  Starched and stayed, beruffed and behooped, the fine
ladies whom he had known had aroused his admiration but mildly as
compared with the natural lure of the body untrammelled which now held
him in its grip.  He noted the slim grace of the arm resting upon the
back of the chair, the delicacy of the mobile fingers toying with the
feathers of the regal cloak thereon, but was more intent upon the
flower-like poise of her head and the lines of her neck which flowed
softly down into the curve of her bosom.  Her clear eyes held him;
played with him, drew and repelled him at will.  Here was wine too
strong for Master Vicary.

She might be a princess, priestess and sorceress, but she was a
woman--a prize taken in war--and his, if he had been under a general
less scrupulous than the Devon upstart!  He stepped towards her.  The
girl spoke hastily:

"There are some matters of which you would speak?"

"Aye, madam."  He reached forward in an attempt to lift her hand to his
lips.  Auria, with a startled expression, drew away from him.  It was
unfortunate for the lawyer that his emotion had deafened his ears so
that he missed the sound of a quick footstep behind him.

In another instant he was gasping and choking in the merciless grip of
hands that held his throat as in a vice.  So sudden had been the
attack, so overcome with terror and surprise was the man that he made
no attempt at resistance other than to tear convulsively at the fingers
which had shut off his breathing.  Anson's face, white and pitiless,
bent over him as he went down, collapsing limply in a heap upon the
floor.  When the hands relaxed their hold, Vicary lay motionless.
Richard was only then aware of Auria, who was pleading with him, while
she clung to his sleeve, to desist from killing.  She still held to him
as he rose to his feet.

"You will pardon me, madam.  I have a score to pay with this fellow.
Leave me, I pray you.  He shall not be harmed until he has recovered.
Nay," he stooped and laid hold of Vicary's shoulders, "it will be
better done without.  You will close your door when I have removed him."

The unconscious form of Vicary was dragged across her threshold.  A
needle's tip of flame at his throat and a weight upon his chest were
the lawyer's first sensations when he opened his eyes.  He was lying
prone upon his back without the door of Auria's cabin while over him
was standing Richard Anson, the sunshine flashing from the blade of his
rapier.  Vicary shuddered and closed his eyes again as he felt the
increased pressure of the steel against his flesh.  Anson spoke
deliberately but with an intensity of pent-up passion which left no
doubt as to his mood.

"I hate with all my heart to stain this sword with your swine's blood.
But, look you, having crossed my path when I would have none of your
spying and lying, you are not content.  You must needs court death,
trusting to your tongue to save your skin at need.  It is death you
should have."  He paused.  "Up, you cur, and to your quarters ere
thinking changes my mind!"

Vicary felt the hot point no longer at his throat.  A glance told him
that there were no other eyes upon him but those of his enemy.  Without
attempting to draw his own weapon, he did as he was bidden.

Master Anson stood with bared head before the princess who had stepped
out of her room to stand at his side.  His hearing was rapt by the soft
music of her voice.

"I fear that this will bring trouble upon you.  But I am grateful,
indeed, for your assistance.  A moment ago I was ashamed of my colour.
Now, I find that I am proud of my white blood."

A light breeze was whipping the pennons at the masthead of the _Golden
Hind_.  It tossed a tress of Auria's hair across the man's cheek.  He
started as if struck suddenly by a hand and, replacing his sword in its
scabbard, stood stubbornly erect.  Within him, his heart was beating
wildly while his will sought for mastery.  Witchcraft he feared as did
all his countrymen and his strange awakening to the power of this woman
when he had first felt the touch of her hand was fresh upon him still.
Yet, if sorcery it was, it was sweet and enchanting.  Never had the
sunshine seemed of such dazzling brilliance.  The very air which he
breathed was like wine sending a delicious thrill of added strength
through every atom of his body.

In this mood of buoyant exuberance it would be easy to face life as a
gay adventure.

"I am overjoyed that I have been of service to you, madam."

He was bending over her hand now, marvelling, as he kissed it, at its
petal-like softness.  With hasty apologies for his abrupt departure,
Master Anson strolled away tangled in dreams, the poet in him singing,
weaving into his aery fancies the melody of murmuring waves and a voice
of silvery tones, the radiance of sunlight with the gleam of a white
arm and golden hair.

"Brainsick fool!" he told himself as he walked forward to the taffrail
of the upper deck.  With this part of his soliloquy old John of
Bideford mentally agreed when Richard asked him if he knew of any proof
that angels had wings, or if the Scriptures had not recorded that their
raiment was sky-blue.




CHAPTER IV

IN DRAKE'S BAY

In the season of the year when the breath of thyme and primroses was
blowing sweet through English lanes, the _Golden Hind_ left the Spanish
settlements.  Undaunted by the unknown she pointed her prow towards the
sunset.  In her hold she carried a treasure meet to furnish a temple of
a Moon-goddess or the palace of Haroun al-Raschid, and her crew, with
full confidence in their brave captain's judgment, cared little whether
they sailed by way of the Portuguese Indies or through the unexplored
Straits of Anian, so that they reached English shores without mishap.
Behind them they left panic and confusion in all the ports of Spain.
In Guatemala, cathedral bells were melted into guns; messengers crossed
each other in flying haste as they scoured the settlements for men and
money; the defiles of the coast ranges were filled with soldiery
hurrying to the seaports to defend the trembling inhabitants from "El
Draque," the invincible corsair.  But the higher officials together
with the Mexican viceroy smiled grimly and took no part in the councils
which demanded immediate action.  Drake, they reasoned, would not again
dare the passage of the Straits of Magellan and, not being a fool, he
doubtless would make no attempt to find the North-west Passage which
was still but a figment of the imagination.  When food and water
failed, he would be forced to seek provisions in a Spanish port.
There, his ship battered by the seas and his crew reduced in courage by
privation and danger, the hand of Spain at his throat would force him
to disgorge his plunder.

Small hint had any Spaniard of the boundless ambition and far-sighted
statesmanship guiding the movements of the man whom they deemed a
lawless pirate.  To found an English empire beyond the seas, to show
the King of Spain that the western main was no longer his private
preserve, to bid defiance to the Romish power which held a world in its
thrall, were high adventures indeed, but, beyond these, Francis Drake
meant that his keel should cleave a passage of discovery that would
blazon his name forever with that of Magellan, Marco Polo and Columbus.
So that after sailing westward some five hundred leagues, his course
was shifted.  Northward, leaving behind the soft sunshine of the
tropics, the little ship sailed upon the fabled way which was the dream
of mariners.  But stronger even than the iron will of Drake were the
elements which conspired, in an unprecedented manner, to defeat his
purpose.  In latitude 42 degrees or thereabouts, as recorded in the
authorised narrative, they fell in with bitter and unbearable cold,
bleak winds and icy seas.  After the luxury of balmy, spice-laden
breezes and relaxing warmth, it was indeed hard to keep the crew in
heart when the rigging was ensheathed in ice and biting winds froze the
hands that hauled the stiffened ropes.  Southward they drifted through
"most vile, thick and stinking fogs" along an inhospitable coast where
snow-capped mountains and terraces covered with dark forests frowned
upon any attempt to find a comfortable haven.  It was then that the
good ship sprang a leak.

In a little bay north of the now famous harbour of the Golden Gate,
they were slowing to anchorage on an evening in June milder than they
had experienced for many days.  While the sun was setting, the _Hind_
shone like a strange gem cast up by the sea.  Her cordage, upon which
the rain had frozen, sparkled with a thousand rainbow hues while the
glamour of the light in the west wrapped her in splendour which
effectually transformed her battered hull and dingy canvas.  Even the
gloomy, forest-clad slopes which enclosed the harbour were brightened
by the sunshine into a temporary warmth of welcome and cheer.  The
pointed tops of the spruce and pine were like golden islets in a sea of
white mist which thinned as it flowed upward, finally merging into the
solid white and gold of the snow upon the summit of the hills.

On board, the seamen were busily preparing to land the cargo and to
make all ready for the establishment of a camp on shore.  The captain,
from his stand upon the poop deck, had been engaged for some time in
directing the movements of the sailors.  To him, while thus intent upon
his affairs, came our Master Vicary, cap in hand, with the information
that a bowl of warmed wine had just arrived from the galley and was now
awaiting him in his cabin.  Seeing that all was going forward in good
fashion, the commander was nothing loath to leave the business to
others.  He laughingly laid his hand upon Vicary's shoulder.

"A little wine for the stomach's sake--eh, Master Vicary?  Well, the
cargo will be that much lighter if we drink her Majesty's health.  And
the night is chill, with more to do ahead of us."

The expression upon Vicary's face showed that his vanity was gratified
by the intimacy which the general allowed him.  Like all men who have
lived too strenuously to leave time for the cultivation of the
refinements of life, Drake had a craving for the fellowship of minds
more polished than his own.  Doughty had failed him.  As a companion,
Vicary was fast taking the place of the dead man.  He was a good
listener and the captain, burdened by visions and speculations upon a
thousand matters of import, felt the need of the relief afforded by
words.

"Aye, my general, one must needs take care of the body or the spirit
will fail.  There are some matters, too, touching the Princess Auria,
which I should like to bring to your attention."

A frown wrinkled Drake's brow.  The subject was evidently not a
pleasant one.  His voice was brusque and irritable.

"May it please God to rid me of this plague of a woman!  Would that I
had left her ashore with the Portuguese, Nua de Silva.  What now?"

"She is working mischief, I fear," went on Master Vicary, "with more
than one gentleman, but with some in particular whom I could name.
Yet, that is of less account than the fact that the seamen are now firm
in the belief that the hardships and misadventures of these terrible
days arise from her trafficking in the black arts.  Being allowed the
liberty of the ship she makes free to perform, at sunrise, certain
heathenish rites and ceremonies, in plain sight of all.  Her beauty may
blind the senses of common men, as a lure of the devil to carnal minds,
but cannot deceive the eye of our general which is single to bring us
with good report back to English soil."

While the lawyer was speaking, the captain had listened with pursed
lips and lowering brow, his hand playing absently with his sword-hilt.
Before replying, he shouted an order to the ship's master who was
directing the slinging of huge bales of merchandise from the hold to
the main deck.  Having given his command he turned shortly upon his
companion.

"I have no doubt as to your care for our welfare, Master Vicary.  I am
too much occupied with matters pertaining to the ship's enterprise to
know all that transpires beyond my sight.  Yet, I would not have you
judge too hastily.  The maiden is white--and whence comes her perfect
knowledge of our English tongue?  Let us remember that there were and
still are Englishmen in Darien since Master Oxenham and Hawkins sailed
there.  The Saviour, to whom be all power and glory, whose blood hath
redeemed us, would require that we protect our own against the
Inquisition of the bloody Papists.  Nor is she to blame because she
hath learned the arts and hath espoused the religion of the natives.
To whom else, lacking the grace of a God-fearing mother, could she look
for guidance?  Has not Master Fletcher striven with her to bring her
into the fold?"

Master Vicary raised his hands and lifted a pious eyebrow.

"Yes, but to what end?  He has preached to her, reading to her the Holy
Scriptures and has striven in prayer for her salvation.  But a few days
since he seemingly had her persuaded to partake of the Holy Sacrament
which was prepared and taken to her cabin.  Mark you now, she flew into
a violent rage, scattering the Host upon the floor, and, indeed, Master
Fletcher escaped hardily from the place without damage to himself.
Incensed by the blasphemy, I hastened to remonstrate with her when, to
my amazement, I was confronted by Master Anson who, with drawn sword,
barred the way to her cabin."

The lawyer lied easily by reason of long practice in the art.  Drake
cut short the conversation.

"A pretty tale to come so late to my ears.  Below, Master Vicary!  The
wine is waiting."

In the general's cabin they found awaiting them the gentlemen
adventurers gathered about a wassail cup of wine, spiced and warmed.
But it was not the policy of Drake to allow his officers to feast while
the mariners worked.  After a round or two, all repaired to the deck to
assist in the menial work of gathering together the ship's gear and
cargo ready for transference to the beach.  It would be necessary to
clear the ship so that she might be overhauled.  This meant time, and a
permanent fort had to be built to protect the precious store.

While the blue shadows gathered in the ravines and the dusk of twilight
gradually enveloped land and water, gentlemen and mariners bent to
their task.  The silent shores echoed to the unwonted sounds of the
shouts of the toilers, the boatswain's whistles and the creaking of
cordage.  Presently, above the snow-capped hills the stars began to
twinkle in the frosty air and, by their light and the ruddy gleam of
the ship's lanthorns, a shallop plied back and forth landing implements
and tents upon the site where they intended to make their encampment.
Among those who toiled most strenuously Master Anson's tall, lithe
figure was conspicuous.  Stripped as a common sailor, he pushed, pulled
and hauled with the lustiest of them, apparently intent only upon the
work in hand.  But while his hands toiled to one end his mind was
busily engaged with the tangled skeins which Fate had woven about his
pathway.

Through the perilous days since the _Hind_ had sailed from Aguatulco,
he had fought a desperate battle of wits against the villainous wiles
of Master Vicary, whose hatred had increased the breach between Richard
and his mates.  In addition to these outward strivings, which were kept
from breaking into open flame by the common dangers and the excitement
of daily experiences that called for action, there had been waged, in
the man's heart, a terrific conflict between his past and his present.
His Protestantism, which at a later date would have placed him among
the Ironsides of Cromwell, was assailed by a power which threatened its
overthrow.  A conventional marriage to a woman of his choice, a home
and children, the perpetuation of the traditions of his family were
dreams which had come to him and which had died.  Now he was facing the
disconcerting fact that, a few short months after he had buried his
love, he was ravished by an infatuation for another woman.  He knew now
that the beauty of the Princess Auria held him a captive, bound by
enchantment.  The starlight upon the water which flowed past him as he
pulled his oar reflected her face; when he glanced back at the black
hull of the _Hind_ looming against the shadows, he felt that from some
hidden cranny her eyes were upon him; beneath the brusque tones about
him he could hear the music of her voice, the liquid foreign accent
with which she spoke the English tongue.  White witch of the
Cordilleras or a limb of Satan grown upon some red-fruited tropic tree
she might be, but he no longer asked who she was nor from whence she
came.  He only knew that he loved her.  Into this parlous state of mind
and soul had Master Anson drifted while his captain was adventuring in
unexplored seas.

When the possible limit of the day's work had been reached, a watch was
set about the merchandise upon the shore and the weary crew retired to
snatch some hours of sleep before the morrow.  Slung in his hammock
beneath the musty beams of the _Hind_, Richard should have slept if
physical fatigue were a sure precursor of rest.  But the dreams of the
day merely merged like a sky-line into the seas of deeper fantasy.
While Drake built empires over which the ensign of England waved in
undisputed sway, Master Anson thrilled to some portentous fate which he
felt to be a part of the night which, creeping from the hollows of the
hills, had invested the little harbour in darkness.  The lapping of the
waves against the sides of the ship only a few feet from his ear, the
rush of the night wind through the pine-clad valleys, the rustling of
eerie voices in the cordage and rigging above him, all carried a
message of Fate that was bearing him, as a great tide, onward to the
gates of wonder and enchantment.  For always now, before he lost waking
consciousness, there came to him the same experience of being
disembodied, winged and moving, impelled by some force over a golden
sea that rippled and shone in ever-expanding splendour to where the sun
dipped below the horizon.  In his dream he was never alone.  Invisible,
beside him, felt as a Presence which guarded him from possible dangers,
moved Auria whom his soul loved but his mind feared.

With the morning came renewed labours and more wonders which perplexed
the simple English seamen.  While they were pitching their tents, from
the wooded defiles of the hills there appeared bands of the natives who
approached the camp and stood watching the proceedings therein.  The
excitement of the Indians was evident.  They were armed and in full
panoply of war-paint and feathers, but it was soon observed that they
were overawed by the sight of the white men and disposed to worship
rather than attack them.  The piety of the crew was shocked by the
demonstrations of the savages, so that the general used his art to
dissuade them from their ceremonials.  They thereupon retired a little
distance and throughout the following night the air was filled with
their howlings and wailings as they proceeded with their invocations
and incantations.  With the dawn of another day there was another
interruption caused by the descent of a larger force of Indians.
Master Fletcher, the chaplain, was requisitioned.  The whole ship's
company went to prayers while the minister, standing upon the mounded
earthwork of the entrenchment, read many chapters from the Bible, after
which psalms were sung for the edification of the benighted natives
who, the chronicles relate, were greatly impressed thereby.  Quietly
the tribesmen came forward and restored the presents which the general
had given them upon the previous day.  Then, in silence, they retired
to the edge of the forest and disappeared.  Marvelling at the efficacy
of prayer, the Englishmen resumed their labour and for a space of three
days no Indians were seen upon the hills above the fortifications.

The morning of the third day was veiled in mist.  Like disembodied
spirits of the sea, the hosts of the fog had flowed into the bay and
had advanced up the slopes of the sheltering hills until an
impenetrable cloud filled every nook and crevice.  The _Golden Hind_,
lying imbedded in layers of white vapour, was completely isolated as if
entombed in glacial drift.  Men groped their way warily along the
gangways while from the shores the sounds of the camp's awakening were
perceived as ghostly echoes which were felt rather than heard.
Gradually a faint yellow glow pervaded the grey walls of fog to
landward, intimating that the sun had just topped the summits of the
mountains.  Motion was felt within the surrounding mists which swirled
and billowed, rose and drifted in strata of varying density and
colouring.  From the body of the ship the curtain lifted, revealing
upon the forward deck a picture which sorely agitated the minds of the
good Protestant sailors.  Their eyes had seen figures of gilded saints
adorning the prows of Papish galleons.  But such images they had not
thought to see as furniture of their own vessel.

Facing the bright sunlight hardily struggling towards her through the
eddying sea of fog stood the white enchantress, Auria.  Her bare arms
were extended in an attitude of adoration and welcome to the rising
light and, in her uplifted face, there was the holy calm and ecstasy
found only upon the countenance of one rapt in divine worship.  Around
her, as she stood motionless and absorbed in her act, soft tendrils of
the mist clung and wreathed, revealing and concealing the lines of her
beauty.  With the increasing richness of the morning she glowed golden
as a Galatea emerging full-flushed from the whiteness of imprisoning
marble.

Shading his eyes against the light, Master Vicary, who stood at the
farther end of the vessel, drank in the sight of her greedily.  Lust of
the eyes was his vicarious offering to the gods of the flesh.  Probably
the chilliness of the morning caused his voice to tremble as he said in
the hearing of those who watched with him:

"Beauty--beauty of the devil!  I have warned the general.  I have
warned all.  Belike enough some fresh visitation of peril will follow
upon this."

In the meantime the fog had risen from the water, revealing the
shoreline and the lower edge of the forest which lay beyond the beach.
As if in proof of Vicary's prediction, there was pouring from the dim
woodland trails a motley array of painted savages who chanted a weird
music to the accompaniment of swaying bodies and limbs.  At their head
moved the stately form of one who was apparently their chief or king.
Before him there strode another hardly less noticeable figure clad in
robes of fur and bearing a huge mace.

The general's voice rang like a trumpet over the heads thronging the
ship's deck:

"To the boats all!  Pikes and muskets!  The woman must go with
us--whether she will or no!"

A few moments of strain and confusion followed but, in a commendably
short space of time, the company was landed and ensconced within the
entrenchments.  Upon the earthworks, the sailors and soldiers, armed
with pikes, muskets, harquebuses and bows, made a warlike show of
defence.  In the centre of the little fort stood Drake and his
gentlemen in full armour and, within their circle, was the Princess
Auria.  Still clad in the simple costume befitting her rites, she stood
leaning upon the chests containing her wardrobe and belongings which,
for greater safety, had been placed with other valuables within the
fort.

Having advanced to within twenty paces of the outer works, the savages
halted and one of their number, striding forward before the others,
began a long oration which he accompanied by violent gestures.  When he
had ceased, apparently from exhaustion, the mace-bearer's voice was
heard gently crooning an eerie melody that grew in volume and intensity
as it was taken up by the tribesmen behind him.  Stout English hearts
quailed as the sound of the chanting, passionate, wistful, uncanny in
its power to awaken awe of the mysterious, rose and fell and echoed
through the forest.  All of the Indians were moving now, weaving
backward and forward in the mazes of a rhythmical, interpretative
dance, while their mingled voices seemed to be calling down from the
mist-filled ravines behind them the dim powers of earth and air.
Singing still and dancing, they moved slowly closer to the breastworks
of the fort.  Under the strain, some of the mariners put musket to
shoulder, but were restrained by the quick, low command of Drake to
allow the Indians to do as they willed.

The mace-bearer or medicine man, who wound his fantastic steps in front
of the procession, suddenly paused when he confronted Drake and signed
to him to be seated.  The general complied, motioning to his gentlemen
to rank themselves in order about him.  From the hands of two braves,
immediately behind the chief, the medicine man then took an ornate
headdress of coloured feathers and, after kneeling before the English
commander, placed it upon his head.  At the same instant the air was
rent by a wild, triumphant yell from hundreds of savage throats.

The English were thrown into confusion by the sudden noise and the
pressure of the Indians who surged tumultuously about and through their
ranks.  The squaws especially engaged the attention of the company by
their frenzied shrieking and wailing and by the fact that, as they
danced, they tore and lacerated their faces, breasts and arms until the
blood ran streaming from the self-inflicted wounds.  Horrified, the
English strove to make them desist.  The hellish din increased.  To the
ears of the seamen it seemed as if the fiends of the pit had been
loosed and that they were unwilling partakers in a Satanic orgy which
might carry them they knew not whither.  Many of the Englishmen sought
the shelter of their tents to escape from the mad vortex of unearthly
sound in which they were swirled about like leaves on the wind.  Then,
as if some great hand had been raised whose power was unquestioned,
there was silence.  Over the earthworks the savages glided, noiselessly
disappearing into the dark verdure clothing the hillside.  Dumb with
astonishment, the ship's company watched the last of the tribesmen
fading into the shadows beneath the trees.  They were roused by Master
Vicary whose snarling cry, fraught with mingled terror and chagrin,
rang through the camp:

"The witch Auria has gone with them!  We are tricked by the devil!"




CHAPTER V

A PASSAGE-AT-ARMS

"Too much of our time hath already been taken by this woman.  Touching
the matter of her treasure, which you mention, it is hers.  By no
manner of reasoning could we lay claim to it even though it were
greater than all we have stored in our hold."

General Drake unbuckled his sword-belt and laid the weapon upon a table
at his side.  He was standing in his cabin, clad in full armour, since
he had but now returned from an expedition into the surrounding
country.  His clothing was somewhat soiled and the worse for wear as a
result of his long marches through the mountain trails in search of the
missing princess.  He was irritable and none too pleased that Master
Vicary, who stood before him, had again pressed for a renewal of the
efforts to unearth the whereabouts of their mysterious passenger.  The
lawyer, however, failed to see that he was precipitating a storm.

"Ah, truly, if the letter of certain unwritten laws be maintained, we
have but little right to anything more than the gear with which we
sailed from Plymouth.  A Spanish court would hardly confirm our title
to the plate and gold which we hope to bring safely to port.  One knows
scarcely where the line may be drawn.  In time of war, civil law is in
abeyance.  Yet, far be it from me to suggest..."

Vicary paused as Drake swung sharply upon him.

"Suggestions and counsel enough I have had, indeed.  There is one law
on this ship, sir, and that is my will under my orders from my
sovereign.  We have grandam's talk enough, too, about witchcraft, but
no sensible explanation of how the woman was taken from under our eyes.
That the cunning of these ragged savages should be greater than that of
brains trained in the Temple speaks not well for English law.  Here is
a mystery or crime for your unravelling, Master Vicary."

Taken aback by the commander's brusqueness, the lawyer stammered
incoherently.  His ruff seemed too tight for the choler which he could
barely suppress.

"There be wiles of Satan, my general, and ways past our understanding.
I have spoken, at times, a word of warning regarding her sorceries
which were playing havoc with our men.  I feared, not for myself, but
for our enterprise and the greater issue of the ship's success.  There
are others, however, who have had the lady's ear who might cast a
light, an they would, upon her disappearance."

"How mean you?  Whom would you mention?"

Drake's directness, the clear question in his eyes, permitted no
evasion.

"Master Anson, I believe, would not relish too close inquiry into his
dealings with the woman.  I much mislike to throw suspicion upon any,
but your own remembrance will assure you of my truth.  He has never
taken part with others in consultation for the welfare of the voyage.
His manner of joining the ship was strange and caused suspicion in my
mind at the time.  Truly I cannot point to open acts of rebellion but
always he has kept his own counsel and none have known what lay under
his darkness."

"You think, then, that he was in league with the woman to disaffect our
company?"

"I do not doubt it," replied Vicary.  "Look you, I would have had her
baptised.  I have already told of the grievous happenings at the time.
That he has frequented her cabin secretly is known to many.  He
encouraged her in the open performance of her heathenish rites, whereat
our seamen trembled and were so dismayed that they believed the ship
given over to the powers of evil against which it were useless to
contend.  But for her arts, aided and abetted by Master Anson, might we
not, even now, be sailing through the Straits of Anian winning fame and
immortal glory for ourselves and her Majesty?"

The general was tired and in an ill humour, having been without sleep
during the previous two days.  The small English force which had
scoured the adjacent hills for sign of the Princess Auria had met with
no success, although they had been entertained hospitably enough by the
natives of the villages which they had visited.  The Indians could not
or would not understand the inquiries addressed to them.  Some
interesting data for the ship's chronicles had been gathered regarding
the character of the country, the flora and fauna, the habits of the
people, but the noisy demonstrations of the savages which lasted
throughout the nights had made sleep impossible for the Englishmen.
Drake's nerves were still tingling from the steady throbbing of drums
and the din of the dusky tribesmen who had surrounded his lodge with
offerings for their newly elected chief.  In his present mood, he was
for peremptory measures and short speeches.

"Bring me this man.  I would speak with him."

Though not to his liking, Vicary performed his errand and presently the
tall form of Master Anson stood in the doorway of the general's
quarters.  The tense lines about Richard's eyes and mouth, the pallor
of his face, showed that he, too, had been under a strain.  He had not
accompanied the expedition when it went inland, but had preferred to
hide his anxiety from his immediate companions.  Little had been seen
of him since the morning when Auria had disappeared.  While to Drake
her recovery was of little moment beyond the fact that he had a passing
interest in her as being of English blood and a possible victim of the
Inquisition, to Master Anson she had become the centre of his universe,
the one who gave meaning and reason to his existence.  From the depths
of his despair and the numbness of apathy she had aroused him to life.
He knew that he loved her--how, he questioned not nor to what extent.
Now when she had thus suddenly been rapt from him, he felt that little
mattered, least of all his personal well-being.

Something in Anson's eyes, which were cold and indifferent, nettled the
commander.  Without intending to do so, Richard quite often ruffled the
sensibilities of his acquaintances who imagined him to be arrogant and
self-centred.

"Your cap, sirrah!"

Drake's voice was harsh and commanding.  Anson flushed while he removed
his Milanese bonnet and stood quietly before the general.  His glance
did not fall before the angry eyes of his leader who, for no reason
which he could have stated, felt his indignation rising until he was
assured of the fact that Anson was antagonistic to him.  He continued:

"I shall not waste your time or my own, Master Anson.  You know my way.
You were in the confidence of this woman whom we know as the Princess
Auria.  Are we right in our surmise?"

There was a pause before Richard replied:

"I am not sure that I have your meaning, General Drake.  She had
honoured me, on occasions, by a certain friendliness.  I doubt if she
told me more than she would have told you or any other gentleman of our
company had you cared to make her acquaintance."  Then, as he caught
the suspicion of a contemptuous smile upon Vicary's face, the man's
hand involuntarily moved towards his sword-hilt.

"A truce with these doubts.  My meaning is clear enough," thundered
Drake.  "The woman disappeared like a ghost through a wall.  Was it
witchery or arranged beforehand?  Some messages there must have been
between her and the savages.  How much do you know of all this?"

"Nothing.  She hath, indeed, a strange power..."  Anson checked
himself.  After all, it would ill become a man to complain because
flowers had fragrance or colour was agreeable to the eye.  He had no
direct proof of her magical power in the sense implied by his words.
Drake was quick to seize upon his hesitation.  "This may--it doth
pertain to the matter in hand.  We would hear more of this--strange
power."

Anson looked directly into his captain's eyes.  His voice was
colourless, low and even.

"I have nothing further to say that would help your difficulty, my
general."

Again his unfortunate gift of arousing antagonism in certain natures
bore him into deep waters.  Drake's quick glance towards Vicary plainly
said, "You were right."  He stepped forward and confronted Anson, with
hand extended.

"Your sword, an you please!  You are a prisoner!"  He turned to the
lawyer.  "Summon a guard.  He shall remain in irons until it pleases
him to speak what is in his mind."

Richard stood, dazed, as if a deadly blow had been dealt him by an
unseen hand.  His first impulse was to protest passionately against the
injustice of Drake's action and to avow his loyalty.  Yet his
admiration and affection for his captain were momentarily, at least,
obliterated.  He could not bend the knee while Vicary stood by to
witness his humiliation.  To his intense disappointment the general
strode to the doorway with the lawyer.  As he did so he said:

"You will remain here until the guard arrives."

Anson allowed his pride to prevent him from asking permission to speak
privately with Sir Francis.  In another moment he was alone.  He sank
down upon a chair and quietly waited.  The men who came to take him
were apologetic and, when he had been conducted to the ship's prison,
were reluctant to place the irons upon him.  He insisted that all
should be properly done.

His narrow cell had not been occupied for a great length of time and,
although small and bare, was clean.  A bar of sunlight falling through
the tiny iron-barred window relieved the gloom which accorded well with
the mood which overwhelmed him.  His respect for Drake had been an
integral part of his being.  The English commander had represented to
him all that was heroic and had been an embodiment of the spirit that
was making his island a world empire.  He had loved his captain with
the devotion which he gave to his queen and country but, deeply as he
was attached to the commander and the enterprise of the _Golden Hind_,
he was in the grip of something that was of more permanent import to
him.  Driven by the prophecy of Kate-o'-the-Mill to strange
adventurings of the soul, he felt since meeting Auria that the threads
of his fate were being untangled by invisible hands and that, in some
way not yet revealed, she had to do with the final scenes in his drama.

At first he had been bewildered by the infatuation which had mastered
him, but he had eventually decided that she was necessary to him--that,
without her, life would not be complete.  Might she not be--it was a
daring thought--"the Bride in the Sun" of whom old Kate had spoken?
Within the mystery of her being, at least, he felt that there lay the
key to his fate.  Now, he was as much at a loss to understand the
manner of her abduction by the Indians as any of the ship's company.
Torn by grief, sensitive to the gaze of his comrades-at-arms, he had
drawn suspicion upon himself by his peculiar behaviour since the hour
when she had vanished into the forests.  He doubted not that the
attorney had been a contributory cause in the matter of his
imprisonment.  In this manner his thoughts mingled and jostled each
other confusedly while the day wore on and the sun once more dipped
into the ocean to westward.

With evening came his simple meal and the kindly face of a Devonshire
sailor.  There was no gainsaying Richard's place in the affections of
the common seamen.  It comforted him greatly to feel that he was not
alone but, in reality, among friends and kinsmen.  The bitter hurt
caused by his general's attitude was thereby relieved.  However, sleep
visited him not at all during that night.

With the succeeding day began the wearisome monotony of hours when he
was perforce his own companion, the routine of meals and sleep being
unbroken.  The crew were engaged in the task of repairing and refitting
the _Hind_ before she started once more upon her homeward journey.
With all possible speed the work went forward.  Fortunately, the
Spaniards who were searching the harbours of the coast for the English
corsair did not light upon their retreat.  Nor were they interrupted by
any more dramatic episodes staged by the natives.  The Indians
continued to be friendly, coming frequently to the fort to mingle with
the sailors and watch them as they worked and to exchange their produce
for the white man's wares which were a source of wonderment and
pleasure to them.  Of Auria nothing more was heard and no further
efforts were made to find her.  Drake, secretly, thought himself well
rid of the woman.

At last the _Golden Hind_ was seaworthy again.  Her seams tight, sundry
weakened timbers replaced by new wood taken from the forest, her sails
and rigging mended and her body glittering with fresh paint, she looked
as trim as when she had sailed from Plymouth Harbour.  Camp was struck
upon shore and her treasures replaced within her hold.  The captain sat
long into the night pondering over the charts which he had taken from
the ship of Don Francisco.  These had guided the Spaniard who crossed
the Pacific to the East Indies.  Beside him, as intimate companion of
his thoughts and dreams, sat Master Vicary who, after the manner of the
servile, knew when to preserve silence and when to anticipate action by
thought.

The light from the candle which illumined the maps of the Spanish
pilots served to throw into bold relief the face of the commander.  The
strain of the trying days of the past year had been somewhat abated by
the rest which had been forced upon him by the ship's necessity but,
for all that, Drake showed that he had suffered mentally.  There were
certain hard lines, a weariness in the droop of his firm lips, which
dated from the hour when he had passed sentence of death upon Master
Doughty in Julian's Bay.  The grey eyes, too, were less given to
mirthful glances since they had faced the terrors of the passage of the
Horn and the welter of northern seas.  He pushed back the charts and
papers before him and stood, leaning somewhat heavily with both hands
upon the table.  Across from him Vicary rose and reached for his cap
which lay close to him.  After mentioning the lateness of the hour, the
lawyer hesitated.  Drake glanced at him inquiringly.

"Enough for one night, eh, Vicary?  We should be ready to hoist anchor.
The moon is full and we can go out with the tide."

The man toyed for a space with the plume of his velvet headgear.

"Might it not be well to increase the guard on our prisoner, my
general?" he said.

Drake smiled.

"What, Master Vicary, is there fear of magic again?  Iron parts not so
easily.  Tut, tut, man, if the white witch had wanted him she would
have rapt him away bodily with her when she herself bade us farewell!"

"Belike enough," replied the lawyer.  As an afterthought he returned
the captain's smile.  "I know not why the thought came to my mind."

"Nor I," replied his master.  The sound of singing, as the seamen burst
into a chantey while hauling upon the anchor, came to them through the
half-opened door.  "Up, sir, let us be on deck while our good ship gets
under way!"

Vicary, following in the wake of his general, found his thoughts
dwelling still upon Master Anson.  He had been fearful of what might
happen to himself were the man to be released.  A vivid memory of a
sword at his throat gave him uneasy moments waking and asleep.  Fear
had finally persuaded him that while Anson lived his own life was in
danger and that he must, in some manner, contrive to prove a case of
treason which would force Drake's hands and bring upon Anson the fate
of the unfortunate Doughty.  Now, on the eve of their departure, he had
a presentiment of some unusual happening.  Would Auria, whom he doubted
not was alive and somewhere near, deliver over her protector and friend
to adverse fates and calmly send him to his execution?  The vague fears
which flitted through the timorous soul of the lawyer might well have
been results of a guilty conscience had it not been that there was a
physical and tangible enough basis for his forebodings.

Master Anson, still in durance, had been kept well-advised of the
progress of the work upon the vessel and in the encampment by his
friends, the seamen who acted as his guards.  Especially had old John
of Bideford been his counsellor and confidant.  A panic would have
seized Vicary could he have known that at the very moment when he had
allowed Drake to see his uneasiness Master Anson was stretching his
limbs, freed from the irons which had held him.  Shortly before the
general appeared upon deck, the Devon sailor just mentioned had slipped
into his place amongst those who hauled upon the winch astern and was
now singing with the lustiest of them.  As a matter of fact, his
ancient voice seemed to have lost its treble and to have acquired a new
timbre strangely youthful and exuberant.

Flags and pennons fluttered out from mast and yard-arm.  As usual, the
waits sat, in the moonlit space upon the poop deck, discoursing a merry
music that was new to the dark, fir-clad hills surrounding the harbour.
Upon promontories and headlands dotted here and there about the
encircling shores red beacons shone, fed by the hands of the natives
who knew that the white chief was bidding farewell to their world.  All
was excitement and bustle and imbued with the spirit of high adventure.

General Drake had ascended to the stern deck and stood surrounded by
his officers.  He turned to address a remark to Vicary, expecting to
find him at his elbow when, to his astonishment, he found that the
lawyer was not among those beside him.  His eye glanced about the
mingled throng and over the heads of the musicians.

"Will someone fetch Master Vicary?"

One of the younger officers immediately complied with the general's
request.  The conversation and merriment were continued by those who
stood in attendance.  Then, suddenly, the attention of all was arrested
by a cry from the centre of the ship.  Upon the gangway midway between
decks, the Temple lawyer was standing with arms extended before him.
At his feet lay his sword which had fallen with a clattering noise as
it was swept out of his hand by a ringing blow dealt by the man who
confronted him.  Drake pushed those near him aside to obtain a clearer
view.  His eyes widened in amazement.  Upon his lips was the muttered
word, "Witchcraft!"  For it was Master Anson, unkempt and haggard,
whose sword, driven home in a deadly thrust, had behind it the pent-up
passion of many days of agony.  With a quivering moan which was that of
an animal wounded to the death, Vicary pitched forward as his opponent
withdrew his weapon.

Upon the decks all was confusion.  Torches glared, the music ceased, as
with drawn rapiers the company swept down into the waist of the vessel.
But they were not in time to forestall Anson's next move.  He sprang
towards the rail and, grasping it, swung himself erect, standing poised
for an instant before he plunged overboard into the dark waters of the
bay.  One silvery pathway of moonlight lay upon the waves, intensifying
the blackness of the surrounding surface.  For an instant, as he arose
swimming, his arm and head gleamed in this moonlit space.  An officer
snatched a musket from the hands of a seaman.  Drake's hand upon his
shoulder restrained him.

"Nay, he can do no further hurt now.  I would not have his blood upon
our heads."




CHAPTER VI

THE KING'S JEWEL

King of New Albion, Francis Drake left the shores of America to awaken
in the soul of insular England a new dream of a world-wide empire.  If,
Providence willing, any of his dauntless band of adventurers touched
English soil again, there would be stirred a fire that would rage
undiminished until the darkness of Rome should be vanquished utterly.
In him there burned the Apocalyptic vision of ages yet unborn wherein
freedom and peace would be assured under the sway of his sea-girt isle.
As steel answers to the call of a hidden magnet, the great captain's
followers were drawn by him into a unit which had one end and purpose,
that his dream should be fulfilled.  Stranger then must seem the
individual fate which, pulling at variance to the great enterprise, had
mastered and overwhelmed Richard Anson who was as true an Englishman as
any.  For, upon the _Golden Hind_ as she disappeared westward into the
trackless seas, his place was vacant.

The fervour of an August afternoon was drenching the wooded slopes of
the Coast Range with warmth and sunshine.  The blue waters of the
Pacific glittered and danced under a landward breeze which marshalled
the madcap waves and broke them in creamy foam upon the rugged shores.
Upward from the beaches strewn with brown kelp and driftwood, the hills
stretched their unbroken expanse of sombre green.  Below the dense
canopy of the red-woods, a tangled growth of bays, salal and mountain
laurel clung to the bases of the great trees as decorative settings for
the stately columns of their fluted trunks.  Silence, cool and dim as
in some old cathedral aisle, pervaded the recesses of the forest.  A
perpetual twilight reigned under the high arches hung with streamers of
grey Spanish moss, and the quietude remained unbroken except by the
chatter of a solitary squirrel, or the hollow tapping of the
yellowhammers whose wings occasionally lit the gloom with a sudden
flash.

In a clearing at the base of the cliffs which formed the topmost ridge
of the hills overlooking Drake's Bay were clustered the rude huts of an
Indian village.  All of the houses, which were built with some show of
arrangement into streets and alleys, were of a similar pattern.  Pliant
limbs of the native trees had been planted in a circle and then bent
inward to form a bower or tent.  The interstices in the framework of
the walls were filled with moss, and the whole covered with deerhides
and other skins as a protection against the sun and the elements.

An open space in the centre of the village surrounded a lodge larger
than any of the others and constructed with considerably more skill and
design.  Welcome are you, Francis Drake, to all your gorgeous plunder
of the seas which you are dragging through the sea-lanes to the Indies!
Within this primitive bower in Eden the eyes of your gentleman
adventurer, careless of your fate, are beholding a treasure more fair
than any you carry or may win to in the course of all your voyaging!

In savage splendour, rugs of the cinnamon and black bear, together with
weapons of the chase and war, adorned the chamber in which Master Anson
stood before his heart's desire.  He himself was garbed partially in
doublet and half-hose of faded crimson.  Indian buskins of deerhide, a
beaded belt, a baldric and quiver ornamented in native fashion, and
eagle's feathers set in his Milanese bonnet completed his motley
costume.

Before him, upon the glossy, black bearskin covering a low couch, the
Princess Auria reclined, a barbaric queen, glittering like some pearl
of tropic seas cast upon bleak northern coasts.  In her mysterious
abduction from the English camp, her Indian captors, whether at her
instance or otherwise, had contrived to carry away all of her jewels
and clothing, and to these were now added sundry trinkets of coloured
and carven bone which were evidently presents from her new subjects.
But beneath the savagery of her adornments her beauty was of a delicacy
and refinement more often seen in civilised courts than in these dark
forest ways.  She was finely moulded, ethereal as if born of some wood
nymph's illicit joy--altogether a thing of air and white light--a
dancing flame of life restrained by a sweet dignity for human uses and
needs.

In the man's eyes as he looked at her there was a gleam which betokened
repressed excitement.  He moved rapidly forward and, kneeling at her
side, raised her hand to his lips.

"Auria..."

She was quick to catch the hint of something unsaid.  Her eyes searched
his face.

"Yes?  Your voice tells me that there is news.  Your hand trembles.
There can be no danger that would daunt your heart in this wilderness.
More kindly hearts surround us than in many places we have known.  Is
it not true?"

Richard answered hesitatingly, but with an intensity in his tones which
bespoke his earnestness.

"I have no wish to disturb your mind, Auria.  I will have my say and
end it.  A ship has been seen again approaching our harbour.  You know
the thoughts that have been keeping me awake of nights ever since the
first sail was seen some days ago.  It is not unlikely that the coasts
are being scoured in search of our general, whom God preserve and keep
from all harm.  If by any chance we could get a ship, Auria, England
might even welcome us before the _Golden Hind_ reaches port."

The girl smiled, but she was evidently stirred by the restrained
agitation of the man.

"Wild dreams, Master Richard!  Should a ship, armed and filled with
soldiery, perchance anchor in our bay, who is to capture it?  Or,
having taken it, who is to sail it without chart to your country?  I
understand.  To you, the England of which you have told me is home.
Would you were upon the good ship that brought you here, if by that
means your happiness were assured...."

She was interrupted by Richard who attempted to take her hands within
his own.  She was shaken by the passion in his voice.

"No ... no ... Auria.  You do not understand!  I make no complaint.
The die is cast and by my own hand.  But, Auria ... you are English.
Of this I am certain as of my own life.  Your place is there among your
own people and not here with these wild children of the wilderness."

Impatiently the man rose and paced the length of the room.  Torn by his
desire and the homesickness which, at times, well-nigh overwhelmed him,
he allowed the words to rush unchecked from his lips.

"Wild dreams!  They are that.  And yet who shall hinder them?  To the
world's end I will follow the dark fate which hath promise of a golden
dawn.  That dawn, however, will never light these hills.  This I know.
Onward, onward, onward the power within me urges night and day.
Passage I must take, if it be to England or to doom.  This"--he waved
his hand to indicate the confines of the room--"might hold me--that I
realise--if you could return the love which I bear you."

He paused.  The girl, who had risen from her couch, was now standing
before him.  In her face there was no reflection of the turbulent tides
which were swaying the man.  Her eyes were calm, shining with a clear
light which fell upon his mood like a chilling dew.  A certain majesty
suddenly clothed her about and drew her away from him into some region
in which he was a stranger.  Her voice was no longer that of the
playful child comrade.  By a subtle stroke of magic he became a votary
at the shrine of a wisdom that was beyond him--a purity and power which
thrilled him with a sense of greatness to which he might aspire but
dared not violate with his touch.  Auria, the Priestess of the Sun, was
not the woman of flesh and blood to whom, a few moments since, his
impetuous words had been addressed.

Throbbing pulses were stilled as he listened to the level tones which
checked and tamed the red passion in him.

"I, too, am drawn by a Power whose will is beyond my understanding.
Whither it shall lead me I have little care.  You love me?  What is
love?  The birds in the forest pair and mate and are happy.  The brave
seizes a woman from another tribe.  She bears his children, plants his
corn, staggers under his burdens, withers and grows old while he
wanders care-free upon the hills.  Let us talk no more of love.  Yet,
if to-day you were on board a fair ship bound upon a venture that would
bring renown to your arms and restore you to the favour of your queen,
I should rejoice.  If I have been the cause of your undoing, willingly
would I make amends."

"Nay, Auria, for what I have done you are not to blame.  But,"--the
man's voice strove to pierce the veil of her sudden aloofness--"do you
not feel that you are of blood apart from these savages who worship you
because of the very difference?"

The girl's hand rested upon a great jewel which hung upon her bosom
attached to a collar of linked gold medallions.  A serpent of
variegated hues, its tail in its mouth, surrounded laced triangles
composed of brilliant sapphires.

"They worship me because I am a priestess of their faith, an initiate
into the mysteries which are as old as the eternal hills which
overshadow the ruined temples of Yucatan.  You do not understand.
Yet,"--Richard's heart leaped as he heard her voice soften and noted
that her eyes were once more human, wistful, tender with a light which
drew him close to her again--"yet, I am a woman and I have found you a
good comrade and true.  The weeks on board your ship among men whom my
heart told me were my kinsmen taught me many things.  But they were
such children--your Englishmen--such children, playing with baubles.
Meat and drink was an end for most of them.  The God they worshipped
was a grim tyrant in a heaven far removed from earth.  These, whom you
despise as savages, see God in every wayside flower, in the winds, and
the waves and the sky.  Even their dances are the sincere expression of
the inner voice of the soul.  Their orations, which to you are
fantastical nonsense, are of such wonderful beauty and eloquence that
your greatest writers might learn from them.  These natives, whom you
consider barbarians, are my kinsmen in spirit."

The princess placed her hand upon the jewel which was suspended from
her necklace.  She detached the pendant and held it towards the man who
gazed at her wonderingly as she continued, "Love?  No, I do not despise
love as my words might lead you to believe.  I know what place it holds
in the dream which we call life.  It is the one reality.  Because I
know its import I cannot be satisfied with its shadow.  Look you,
Master Richard!  This jewel I had from an ancient priest in the temples
of my native land.  He said that it was mine by a right divine.  Will
you trust yourself to me?  Lie there upon my couch and hold this
trinket in your hand."

Richard hesitated.  The request was strange and he had no inkling of
what she intended.  He stood stubbornly for a moment and then,
perceiving that she stood smilingly with outstretched arm while she
awaited his decision, he complied with her wishes.  Holding the
scintillating gems clasped within his hand, he stretched himself upon
the bearskin rug upon which she had been reclining.  Auria stood over
him gently brushing his forehead with the tips of her fingers.

Richard relaxed and permitted the warm sense of drowsiness which flowed
about him to overpower his curiosity.  From the white hands which
caressed his brow and eyelids he felt a delicious thrill like that from
a faint perfume of wild flowers, but it was not only one sense but all
of his waking consciousness which succumbed to the gentle spell of her
touch.  His breathing became more regular and gradually deepened.  In a
few moments more he was asleep.

When Anson opened his eyes he found himself standing by an open window.
A red sun was setting above the dense verdure of a hill opposite to him
and, from the configuration of the trees limned against the light of
the sky, he knew that he was in the tropics.  With General Drake, in
the Cordilleras, he had seen just such a forest.  From the scene which
he could see through the arched embrasure of the window, he turned to
view the interior of the place in which he stood.  To his surprise he
saw that he was within a chamber of imposing dimensions, the
furnishings of which marked it as belonging to an age and a nation
other than his own.  Yet, the stone walls hung with tapestries
cunningly wrought in weird designs of brown and red, the columns which
supported the high ceiling and the vista of a courtyard which he
glimpsed through a partially curtained doorway seemed to awaken vague
memories which eluded him.  He was puzzled and bewildered by the
feeling that he had been there before, but analysis of his sensations
was cut short when his eyes fell upon the other occupants of the room.

In a bed of carven ebony and marble, beneath a canopy of richly
embroidered cloth, lay a man, gaunt and emaciated.  His bronzed
features bore the unmistakable stamp of power and authority.  That it
was a royal couch was no less evident than that the woman who knelt
beside it was a queen.  Her face was hidden from Anson, but the gems
which adorned her person, glittering in her hair and in the girdle
which held in the folds of her white robe, were such as only a great
princess might rightfully wear.

It was evident that the monarch had just passed through a paroxysm of
pain or over-exertion, for the long brown fingers which held tightly to
the embroidered coverlet were clenched so that the knuckles shone white
as the marble pillars of the bedstead.  Above his closed eyelids great
beads of perspiration were standing upon his forehead.  The head of the
woman was partially buried in the soft folds of the bedding, but her
shoulders, heaving at intervals, betrayed her sorrow and agitation.

Presently the king opened his eyes.  His glance, dull and vacant,
wandered slowly about the room until it fell upon the jewelled serpents
in the bright tresses beside him.  With a violent effort the man pulled
himself into a sitting posture and leaned towards his consort.  His
voice, though husky and rasping, thrilled with the intensity and fire
of his emotion.

"I tell thee, Quetla, the might of a king may not lightly be impugned.
Even now the shadow of death is upon me and I know whereof I speak.
The gods who watch over the fortunes of thy lover are weaklings
compared with mine.  Again, I tell thee he shall not have thee ... nor
happiness here nor in the life to come.  What hast thou done with the
necklace which I gave thee on that day when thy foot first rested upon
the steps of my throne?"

"Mighty one--my lord--it is here," replied the queen, raising her face
from between her palms.  Anson started.  His hand grasped the folds of
a curtain beside him as he leaned forward.  The pale face confronting
him above the form of the dying king was that of Auria!  But, as in an
evil dream, he felt himself bound, his limbs powerless, his tongue
unable to utter the name that trembled upon his lips.

While she was speaking the woman had unclasped from her neck a chain of
gold, curiously chased, from which was suspended a jewelled serpent,
forming a circle which enclosed two interlaced triangles set with
sapphires.  Iridescent flame, imprisoned lightnings, flashed sword-like
from its coruscating surface.

Viciously as a snake might strike, the lean hand of the king snatched
the necklace from her fingers.

"Ha!  The gods are with me.  Know, false-hearted one, that thy fate and
thy lover's are one and that fate is death--death!  Little good will he
have of the kingdom or of thee.  This amulet is the Great Serpent of
which thou hast heard it spoken that whoever shall possess it shall
have his or her heart's desire."

The woman had sprung to her feet and now stood swaying as if drunken
with wine or grief, her lips white and her face set and rigid.  Her cry
echoed throughout the great chamber.

"The Great Serpent!  Pitiful gods, I beseech your aid!"

With a quick movement she seized the wrist of the king and attempted to
wrest the jewel from his grasp.  But even as she did so a dark figure
stepped silently from behind the curtains at the head of the bed and
pinioned her arms to her side.  The crackling laughter of the king
resounded in Richard's ears as she was half carried and half pushed
towards the entrance to the chamber, where she was delivered into the
grip of a slave whose copper-coloured skin glinted like metal in the
sunset light.  A red hand over her mouth smothered her cries as she was
borne away from the death-bed.

The king's uncanny strength had vanished with the disappearance of
Quetla.  The tall form of the man who had overwhelmed the queen leaned
over him to catch his intermittent whispering.

"Thou art high priest of our gods and thou knowest.  Her lover will
take the throne and her--as thou hast said.  It is written in the
stars, but--without the magic of this amulet--only evil can befall him
and the gods will wreak vengeance for me...."

He ceased speaking and a shadow gathered and darkened upon his face.
His breathing became inaudible.  Out into the dark night of the region
of shades, the spirit of the king was groping its way blindly as a
child taking its first halting steps in a new world.  If he heard the
low voice of the priest in his ears he made no sign that could be
interpreted.

"O king, rest thee well!  Thy servant will bury the jewel beside thee
in the tomb of thy fathers.  And, if thou hast truly loved, again, it
will be well.  But if, in mockery of love, thou hast striven to hold
what belongs to another, then will the gods restore the jewel to its
rightful owner.  On the high-roads of eternity the lovers will meet
again.  It is the law!"

The scene was instantly veiled by intense darkness.  When Richard could
see again he was looking up at the Princess Auria.  Her arms were
outstretched towards him.

"Never in this life must your lips speak of that which you have seen.
The ages have passed.  You love me?  Prove your love.  If the gods send
us aid, take me back to the temples of my people."

When Master Anson left the lodge of the princess, he walked as a man
still in the toils of dream.  The overwhelming nature of the vision
which he had seen possessed him utterly.  There was nothing of which he
had heard or read, nothing whatever in his world, which gave him a clue
to the understanding of this thing.  That he, Richard Anson, had lived
before he had been born upon English soil was something which seemed to
him ridiculous, a wild, fantastic vagary of his imagination.  Yet, the
great jewel which lay once more upon Auria's bosom was a tangible
enough symbol of his experience.  Again, the mystery surrounding his
own present, fate-ridden life, the wonder of the unseen world
personified by Auria, the dream from which he had but then
awakened--all combined to render him susceptible to new impressions.
Might it not be true that Love, being eternal, was so great a thing
that it could not all be exhausted and its purposes fulfilled in one
short life?  Will a man's soul, submerged in the waters of illusion,
not catch at any reed floating past him upon the stream of his
imagination?

He wandered beyond the confines of the village and there silence and
the green gloom of the forest ways brought him strength if not peace.
Battling with the love in his heart, he followed a trail through the
woods lying at the base of the cliffs which overlooked the sea.  Night
found him still torn by the conflict within him of the passion that
would possess and the love which thought only of the welfare of the
beloved.

Sinister cumuli of black clouds had gathered behind the rampart of the
hills and, like great wings, had covered the harbour with a pall of
inky darkness.  Richard, heedless of time or place, had swung himself
aloft from ledge to ledge until he stood upon the bare scarp of rock
near the summit of the heights.  Then it was that a jagged fork of
lightning tore asunder the veil of the night which ringed him round.
Below him, etched black against a sheet of silver, he saw the outlines
of a ship at anchor in the bay.  In that instant his battle was ended.
Down through the soft rush of rain which followed he slid and
scrambled, retracing his path through the forest.

Some hours later the Princess Auria was awakened by an unusual noise in
the village.  Calling the little Indian maid who slept in the room
adjoining her own, she sent her out to summon Master Anson.  Presently
the girl returned to say that the camp was in a turmoil, but that
Richard was not to be found.  The squaws were uncertain as to what was
on foot.  The white chief had called the warriors.  Silently, after the
first low warning of the war-drum, they had all disappeared into the
shadows of the forest.




CHAPTER VII

DELIVERANCE BY SWORD

Only vaguely divining the cause of the sudden summons which had thrown
the village into confusion, Auria paced her chamber swept by a storm of
conflicting emotions.  The blind infatuation of the Englishman had
blunted his perceptions or he would have known that the woman heart of
the princess had been deeply touched by his devotion.  Her sojourn on
the _Golden Hind_ had led her to dwell upon the fact of her English
blood.  When she had first gone aboard the ship, she already possessed
a good knowledge of the tongue, learned, as Anson afterwards
discovered, partially from her own father and from contact with English
prisoners in the viceroy's capital.  Its sound was familiar and sweet
to her ears and moreover drew her strangely, thrilling her with
suggestions of an unknown world.  But her experience in the temples,
where she had been initiated into the mysteries of the Maya cult, was
still the dominating force in her life.  Naturally, as a flower grows,
her spirit had expanded in the light of the ancient teachings until she
passed into an understanding of life's inner meaning, which cut her off
forever from the stream of ordinary existence.

Yet all of her had thrilled to the human passion in Richard's voice, to
the touch of his hand, the light in his eyes.  Sibyl of strange gods,
she knew that there was no such thing as chance in the affairs of men.
Recognising her lover, known in other lives, at the moment when she
first saw him upon the deck of the _Golden Hind_, she had, since that
time, been fighting with all her strength against the impulses of the
natural woman within her.  Now, she was asking herself what she, Auria,
Priestess and Vestal Virgin of the Sun, had to do with human loves.
Her kingdom lay in ethereal realms, in the passionless calm of the
immortals.  Why should she permit her womanly weakness to draw her into
the maelstrom of human fate?

Darkness wrapped the forest and the waters below the encampment.  Rain
was still falling but the thunder had subsided into infrequent
rumblings which echoed through the hills.  The wood and ways were
drenched and dripping, a soft, tangled mass of sodden leaves which
obliterated all sounds except the purling of hidden streams which
pushed their way through the moss and bracken.  Somewhere, close to the
shore, in the blackness, lay the galley which had been revealed to
Master Anson.  Now, through the forest, on feet as silent as the night,
he was leading the warriors of the princess in the direction of the
vessel.

Reaching the spot where lay their small fleet of war-canoes, these were
quietly manned and from under the shelter of the drooping cypresses
they shot out into the bay, paddling softly but swiftly to where a
twinkling red light hung from the stern of the _San Rafael_.  One of
the many beagles now hot on the trail of Drake throughout the harbours
of the Pacific coast, she was fully equipped, having a sufficiency of
guns and ammunition to punish the English robbers with fire and death,
if fortune so willed.  As they neared the ship, the black hull against
the less dense darkness about her discovered a vessel of considerable
size.  The long beaks of the canoes were nosing her side before any
intimation of danger came to her crew.  As a matter of fact, Anson's
Indians had boarded the vessel before a lantern flashed and a hoarse
voice shouted the alarm.

In less time than it takes us to record it, the English adventurer was
in the thick of a scene that remained long fixed in his memory as a
lurid dream--a nightmare of some struggle between demons in a
phantasmal world.  Torches glared upon the glittering helmets and
corslets of the defenders, while Master Richard's dusky warriors were
leaping and howling shadows which writhed wickedly among the affrighted
Spanish soldiers, tearing them down as wolves tear down their helpless
quarry.  The wooded shore re-echoed with the cries of the wounded, the
sickening thud of blows and curses and the ferocious yells of the
Indians hot with lust of blood, until the little land-locked bay seemed
some black corner of the Inferno shot through with the forked tongues
of hate and red desire.

Master Anson had fought his way through the press until he found
himself upon the highest point of the deck at the rear of the vessel.
There, with back braced against the taffrail, he faced a ring of the
Spanish soldiery.  He was completely cut off from his men who were
engaged in the confusion of the battle amidships.  Two of his
assailants went down before his sword.  Two, remaining, engaged him.  A
third Spaniard held a torch to assist his comrades-at-arms.  Splendid
as was Richard's swordsmanship, it was, for the moment, taxed to the
utmost point of its skill.  Ward, parry and feint, his blade glinted
with a rapidity that was dazzling in its brilliance.  His opponents
marvelled at the futility of their attempts to break through his guard.
Superstitious fear began to possess them as they pressed in upon the
tall, dark figure of the Englishman whose lips were smiling and calm,
but whose eyes were tawny slits of light--those of a lion at bay.  In
Anson's mind there was only one thought--Auria!  He fought as the
troubadours of sunny France, his blood chanting a song to the immortal
beauty that is as much of God as may be seen by mortal eyes.

Then happened a thing which well-nigh bereft him of further sight of
her in this life.  One of the men whom he had wounded to the death, in
his throes, moved his arm just at the moment when Richard stepped aside
to avoid a stroke that had almost penetrated within his guard.
Stumbling over the outstretched limb, he collided with the Spaniard who
held the torch and saved himself only by swinging the man quickly
between himself and his assailants.  As he did so his warriors swarmed
up from the pit below.  A short, sharp struggle, gasping cries from the
Spaniards, was followed by the splash and gurgle where their bodies
sank into the waters of the bay.

From the vantage-point of the high deck upon which he stood, Richard
surveyed his prize.  It was a vessel of less cumbersome shape than the
great galleons of the Spanish navy or those flush-decked castles which
carried the treasures of the New World.  A square forecastle bristling
with cannon, a long waist wherein the slaves toiled at the oars, and
the raised quarter-deck beneath him made altogether a much lighter and
more rakish-looking craft than the regular ships of the line.  However,
the glare of the torches torn from the hands of the Spanish soldiers
was not sufficient to permit him thoroughly to take stock of the
equipment of the _San Rafael_.  On the decks below, the mingled throng
of dusky braves, Spaniards in steel corslets and helmets and half-naked
slaves still swayed in desperate combat.  The groans of the wounded and
the curses of those who struggled in the grip of the savages prevented
his voice from being clearly heard as he shouted orders to his Indians
to desist from further killing.  To prevent more bloodshed it was
necessary for him to descend to the waist of the ship and to push his
way forward while he conveyed his command to all.  With a surprising
docility the tribesmen submitted to his wishes although, had their lust
for blood been unchecked, they would most surely have persisted until
all of the hapless crew had been slaughtered.  Indiscriminately they
had attacked the Spanish defenders and also the slaves who, bound four
or five to an oar, were especially helpless.  These unfortunates,
however, had escaped from death to a greater extent than the soldiers
and marines because of the fact that they could not actively engage in
the conflict.  However, had Master Anson not intervened, they would
inevitably have perished like beasts in a shambles.

As he stood upon the central gangway where the slave-drivers walked
when the ship was in action, the flare of a torch lighted the face of a
slave who lay in his last agony, his limbs writhing still from the
horror of the cruel death which had taken him where he was bound.  With
a cry Richard bent forward.  The face of the dying man was white--the
features unmistakably English.

Like a madman in his excitement, Anson forced his way through the
warriors and their prisoners while he examined the huddled wretches
chained to the great banks of oars.  To his amazement and unbounded
joy, English accents greeted his ears, English faces looked into his
own.  A round dozen in all, he found them, trusty men of his own Devon,
who had sailed with Captain Hawkins and had been taken by the
Spaniards.  From the dungeons of the Inquisition in Mexico they had
been haled to man the vessels sent out in pursuit of "El Draque," their
masters glorying in the refined cruelty which made them instruments of
vengeance against their own kinsmen.  No better seamen had ever sailed
the seas!  Here Almighty Providence had delivered into his hands the
material for further adventurings, or for a speedy return to England
after the fulfilment of his promise to Auria.  All of this, mingled
with joy at the sight of English faces and with gratitude for being
their deliverer, flashed through him as he laboured to release them
from their irons and listened to the wild, incoherent talk of the
wretched men saved from their living hell.

Seven only of the Spaniards remained alive as prisoners in the hands of
Auria's warriors.  While these were transferred to the canoes, Master
Anson, together with his newly found comrades, knelt upon the deck to
give thanks in prayer for deliverance.  Then, while the flaming torches
illumined their haggard features, unkempt hair and beards and
intensified the light of devotion in their eyes, the strange company
sang a psalm of thanksgiving.  The dark shadows upon the hills about
the bay trembled to the echoes of the unwonted sound.  It was
characteristic of the England of that day that religious exaltation
should go hand in hand with a passionate faith in the greatness of
their own blood.  It was upon this foundation that the future empire
was builded in the hearts of a people.

Auria, in her chamber, was engaged in the silent struggle in which
woman and priestess contended for supremacy.  An unearthly din
attracted her attention outwards.  The shrieks of women were mingled
with the roll of drums and blood-curdling war-cries from a hundred
savage throats.  Lifting the tent-flaps of matting at the entrance to
her bower, the princess saw the leaping red tongues of a great beacon
illuminating the clearing.  About it the women of the tribe circled in
a dance of triumph.  But what drew and held her attention was the
disorderly throng of painted braves which was issuing from the trail
leading up from the shores of the harbour.  In their midst marched a
number of prisoners clad in armour and helmets with waving plumes.
Before them, a tall figure swaying unsteadily as he moved, strode
Master Anson.  His face was streaked with blood while in his hand he
carried his unsheathed rapier.  In another moment he was kneeling
before her.

"Master Richard ... what is it? ... these men ... Spaniards!"

With his sword the man pointed towards the sea.  "There lies your ship,
my lady!"

"My ship, say you?"  Auria's tones were hushed.  She spoke uncertainly
as one might when confronted by a miracle.  "How can this be?  Only a
few hours since I prayed for the impossible to happen.  Now, you return
saying that it is accomplished.  What strange magic do you work?"

"I have no such arts as yours, Auria.  I have nothing but my sword and
a stubborn will.  Almighty God has all my thanks for sending this ship
to our hands.  With His aid, and the help of your warriors, I have
taken it.  It brings deliverance not only for you, but for some brave
English hearts in misery these many years."

Eagerly he told her the joyful tidings in regard to his countrymen.
Meanwhile the men were standing some little distance away among the
Indians.  When they were summoned to come forward, all gazed in
bewilderment at the princess.  Her beauty and not less her English
tongue conspired to hold them dumb with amazement.

Auria stood for a space curiously considering the tattered clothing and
grimy faces of the galley-slaves.  Anson was quick to note the hint of
anxiety, almost of fear, that crept into her voice when she spoke to
them.  He was startled by her question.

"Is there any among you who served with Captain Oxenham?"

"We are all Captain Hawkins's men, my lady," replied one of the
Englishmen.  "We were left by no fault of his, God rest him, among the
bloody Papists.  Because we believed not in bones, rags, saints and the
Virgin, we have suffered for the true faith which we hold in our Lord
and Saviour."

"Where were you imprisoned?"

"In the city of Mexico, madam."

Auria turned to Master Richard.  "Let them be taken to a place where
they may wash and rest.  A lodge can be given them for their own use.
My people will clothe and feed them.  Now, let us go in.  I would learn
your plans.  So suddenly these things have happened, I am at a loss to
know whether I dream or wake."

Once inside her bower, Anson faced the princess.  "What do you know of
Captain Oxenham?" he said.

His tone was imperative, implying a right.  This he instantly
regretted.  Auria spoke coldly in a way that put him without the
barrier of her reserve.  As princess and sibyl of the mysteries she was
somewhere above him in a world beyond whose borders his rights ceased
to exist.

"That he was hanged.  I forbid you to talk about my past.  It is my
concern alone."

"But, Auria, with this ship and by God's grace we can go to England and
restore these poor men to their homes."

She was still cold and impersonal.

"You may do what you will with what is yours.  I will stay here or, if
you care to fulfil your promise, I will go with you to Mexico."

Anson was quivering under the lash of her indifference.

"Auria, do you know that my love for you drove me to face death this
night to bring your desire to your hand?  I had gone into the woods,
desperate with my longing for you, when there came a flash of
lightning.  Heaven revealed to me this galley anchored in our bay.  I
took it as a sign of deliverance for us both.  But it was of you, not
of myself, that I thought as my arm kept the Spanish swords from my
throat.  Auria, is there no drop of human blood in you?  I tell you,
woman, that I love you more than I thought to love anything again on
this earth!"

"And if I were wholly woman, I could love you for what you are and for
what you have done, and ... for a deeper reason which I cannot fully
disclose to you.  Are there not plenty of women in that far land of
England any of whom can fill your life?  You do not understand, my good
soldier!  Once, not so long since, a Don, in the viceroy's court, slew
single-handed two ruffians who had attacked me in the streets.  He
loved me and offered me honourable marriage and, with it, security
against the Inquisition.  Can I forget the pain in that young face--I
see it now reflected in yours--the light that went out of his eyes when
I left him to return to the temples of my gods?  Nay, it is no easy
thing for me to hurt a living creature.  Is it because I love all that
I cannot love one only?  I do not know.  For a greater service I have
renounced the safe and lovely ways of home and husband and children.
If you were only closer to me--if life meant the same thing to both you
and me--I do not know..."

Without the lodge, the triumphal chant of the women, who rejoiced with
their warriors, echoed through the forest.  Anson restrained his
impulse to plead ardently for himself.  He said slowly, "And if, to
prove my love, I take you back to the temples of your people?"

"I cannot say.  I only know that the love which gives is higher than
that which takes and holds."

She was standing now by a little rustic table at the head of her couch.
The light from a brazier near by illumined the lines of her girlish,
drooping figure.  She had relaxed from her priestly poise.  With her
golden hair and clear, grey eyes she was a flower as fair as any in
English lanes, apparently soft and yielding as a wild blossom.  Anson
felt the hot blood surge within him.  With eyes blinded for the moment
he seized her arm and drew her roughly to him.  The blindness was for
an instant only.

If he had been paralysed by an unseen power he would not have been more
helpless before her.  Within the woman stood the priestess, cold,
immovable as adamant, an invincible will towards the denial of life.
The man had not reached the stature necessary to meet and conquer this
force which would slay human love while it made a virtue of pain.  Her
words fell upon him like a knotted lash.

"Not that way lies love.  I will remain here."

"Auria, forgive me!  I shall not forget again.  Help me to be worthy!
Trust me and you shall go back to your people!"

There was only sorrow in her voice and a maternal tenderness as she
bent over him while he knelt, penitent, at her feet.

"Yes, I will trust you, Master Richard!"




CHAPTER VIII

STORM AND STRESS

Hakluyt and the chroniclers of the Elizabethan age have recorded
quaintly and in sufficient detail the valorous achievements of English
seamanship and the deeds of the merchant adventurers.  But unrecorded
forever, in manuscript or book, must remain the victories won by a man
in the recesses of his own soul.  Richard Anson, in the hour when he
saw gleaming below him the masts and rigging of the Spanish ship in the
shelter of Drake's Bay, had taken a step forward in the greater
adventure which is of more moment than the rise and fall of kingdoms.

The elements, however, conspired to delay his purpose.  The
galley-slaves, the tried and trusty English seamen whom he had released
from their captivity, were his chief reliance in the enterprise which
he now planned.  Whether at arms or at labour, they were each and every
one of them worth ten men picked at random in a seaport.  Grateful to
their deliverer, they were ready to follow him in whatsoever
undertaking he had in mind, knowing that eventually they would see
England again and bring with them a tale of great deeds worthily
accomplished.  With them and two Portuguese slaves whom he had found at
the oars, Master Anson manned his prize.  Those of the Spaniards who
remained alive he placed in irons, thinking that they might be
exchanged as prisoners of war at some future day.

With a fair breeze he would soon have compassed the distance from the
North American harbour to Aguatulco.  But, to his intense
disappointment, upon the first day out the wind failed and his little
cockle-shell craft lay becalmed upon a sea as smooth as a polished
mirror.  The oars were called into use, but Richard had no mind to keep
his English sailors chained to the terrible labour from which they had
so lately been rescued.  Above them the sky burned pitilessly blue and
devoid of cloud.  To larboard, the low line of cliffs lay silhouetted
against the hard, metallic lustre of the air while, to westward,
stretched the limitless expanse of the slumbering ocean.  Only the
gulls, that had followed the ship, broke the silence when, circling
lazily above the vessel, they alighted upon the yards and rigging as
upon some bit of driftwood aimlessly falling and rising with the tide.

When not engaged in scanning the horizon for sign of cloud or wind or
directing the work of the crew, Master Anson was in constant attendance
upon the princess.  In the best cabin which the _San Rafael_ afforded,
he had arranged such furniture from her Indian lodge as was needful for
her comfort.  She had made him happy by laying aside for a time the
role of priestess and by becoming a comrade more to his liking.
Half-child and half-woman he often thought her in these hours, yet
there was in her unblushing frankness and in the clear candour of her
eyes something which strangely puzzled while it attracted him.  She
moved serene and unruffled by the stronger winds of emotion, in a sort
of isolated region to which, at times, he seemed intimately near, but
which faded as he approached into a remoteness which gave him a keen
sense of loneliness.  She was his companion, but was also comrade of
all that lived and breathed, delighting in every little incident of the
life about her, but yet viewing all things with a wisdom and detachment
which was as a chilling wind to quench the ardour which burned in him.

Entering her cabin now, he found her sympathetic when he spoke of the
calm which held them in its power.  She was playing with a little bird
of delicately beautiful plumage which was about the size of an English
robin.  This pet she had brought with her from the ship of Don
Francisco and, in all her adventures since that eventful day when she
had been transferred to the _Golden Hind_, she had retained the little
creature.  Anson had often wondered at her attachment to it and had
marked, with much curiosity, the fact that it had no need of a cage but
was so tame that it could be allowed complete liberty.  It was
climbing, now, up the sleeve of her gown, clinging to the fabric with
its parrot-like talons.  Reaching her shoulder it nestled against her
cheek.  As she spoke she glanced down lovingly at the bird.

"Master Richard, the wind will come.  Be patient.  Have I ever told you
the story of my pretty Inca bird?"

"Nay, Auria, but why talk of a bird when our precious time is passing
and we are lying like driftwood on this perverse sea?"

Auria smiled.  Her fingers caressed her tiny pet which pressed close to
her for shelter and protection.

"Why not talk of the bird?  It may take your mind away from your
anxieties which will all be righted presently.  Besides, it may help
you to understand many things which are darkness to you now.  I cannot
always make it clear to you why I, who am English, should so love the
life of the natives who nurtured me.  Listen, Master Anson!  This
little bird was brought to me from Lima by a Spanish gentleman.  It is
said that once only in the year do they appear in the streets of that
city.  For a day they remain and then, as mysteriously as they came, do
they vanish and are seen no more for a twelvemonth.  The Indians call
them the Inca birds and say that in them are incarnated the victims of
Spain.  They are so tame that anyone may pick them up in the open
market-place, and are all marked with this strange red patch as of
blood upon the feathers of their breasts.  No Spaniard dare harm them.
Indeed, I have been told that they fear the birds so that they remain
within doors while the flocks invade their streets."

What had a bird to do with the present issue when any hour might bring
sight of a Spanish galleon which would crush their dreams like a frail
bit of sea-shell?  He gazed at her in bewilderment.  The shadow of the
mystery which eluded him was strong upon her.  He felt that she
belonged almost irrevocably to the region of the Terra Demonum, that
dim borderland of the unknown which frightened the Protestant in him.
But this other thing which called to the soul of the man who longed to
touch the fringe of the garment of wonder and beauty and power ... what
was it?  He was silent, looking at her with darkly brooding eyes as she
continued:

"Is it nothing to you, then, this little flame of life in its soft robe
of feathers?  Is life not more than that which is its shadow?"

Richard frowned.

"Riddles ... always riddles, Auria!  Yet I would that you might lead me
by the hand into your land of dreams!"

Again a smile, like a sudden gleam of sunshine, illumined her face.
The man thrilled as she glided to his side and, with a child-like
gesture, slipped her hand into his.  A tendril of her hair touched his
cheek like a bit of flying fire.

"Come, let us go upon deck, Master Richard!  The sun is low.  In a few
moments more it will open like a glorious flower out there on the edge
of the world."

Like a boy, he suffered himself to be led out of doors.  They stood
upon the castellated deck of their little ship, leaning over the
taffrail.  A dark stain upon the surface of the wood near to her hand
caught Auria's attention.  Other dark blotches of a similar hue were
upon the deck at her feet.  With an exclamation of horror, she drew
close to her companion.

"It is blood ... blood!  Harmless lives sacrificed that I might have my
desire ... and, look, Master Richard ... the waves ... they are all
blood ... and that black hand to the south whither we are bound!  Look
... ah, look!"

Startled by her sudden perturbation, the man glanced at her before
directing his gaze elsewhere.  The girl's eyes were wide as of one just
awakened from sleep, her features rigid and pale.  Her hand sought his
arm and clung to it.  Anson looked across the expanse of water before
them to the horizon, which was barely discernible where the blue of the
sea merged with the cloudless sky.  To the West the sun, glowing like
the surface of a molten mass of metal, was sinking into waves as
scintillant as its own gleaming rondure.  Its level rays tipped the
myriad waves with a dazzling sheen.  For the glassy surface of the sea
was broken now and was rippling like scaled armour under a sudden
breeze from the south-west.  The rigging of the _San Rafael_ stirred
uneasily and, responding to the undulation of the waters, rose and fell
rhythmically as if unexpectedly awakened from its dreaming.

However, that which caught and held Richard's attention was the cloud
that had appealed to Auria's imagination as a hand of warning.  As the
sun disappeared its blackness was intensified.  No longer a hand
projected, but the rising rim of darkness itself, it extended along the
whole horizon behind them, dimming the brightness of the waters, its
shade gradually submerging the lingering sunset's rays.  The rising
wind caught the sails which flapped and filled while the helmsman held
the vessel head on to the swell that was racing in from the gathering
night.  From the north ahead of them, from east and west, the twilight
shadows rose to meet and merge with the pall of inky gloom rising from
the south.  Together they watched until, at last, they were apparently
enveloped in a world bereft of aught but hazard and sinister omen.  The
man strove to conceal his trepidation as he turned to the girl at his
side.

"Auria, I like not this sudden change.  It was even thus when we were
driven north on the _Hind_.  I must reef all sail instantly.  A great
gale is in this breeze.  At any moment it may strike.  Will you go
below, my lady?"

"I will wait for you here, an I may, Master Richard," replied the
princess.  She disengaged her arm from his.  A slight blush suffused
the paleness of her face.  She realised how closely she had been
clinging to his side.

Leaving her by the rail on the stern deck, Richard hastened to summon
all of his little crew to the task of taking in canvas in preparation
for what might happen.  He was none too soon.  Before the last gasket
had been fastened home, the ship was labouring in the trough of a sea
which threatened to engulf her.  The sudden fury of the wind seized
upon the one sail which remained unfurled and the foretopmast snapped
as if a Titan hand had done the damage.  While his men struggled
valiantly to clear away the tangled wreckage, Richard fought his way
through flying spray and rain which whipped his face like pellets of
steel.  Upon the rear deck he could discern Auria clinging to the place
where he had left her.  He gave thanks that the first onslaught of the
storm had not been sufficiently strong to sweep her away.  Yet it was
no place for her.  He blamed himself mightily for not having compelled
her to seek safety in her cabin.

When he reached her she made no show of resistance as he drew her close
to him.  Her light garments were drenched by the rain, her hair a
tangled, dripping mass.  She clung to him as a child might have done
while he made the difficult passage from the deck to her quarters.
Before leaving her, he stood for a moment above her.  His blood was
warm from the close contact with her.  He could still feel her in his
arms.

"Auria, if your gods are strong, pray to them.  I have none."

She was lying on a couch where he had placed her.  He lifted her limp
hand to his lips as he knelt beside her and continued:

"None except you whom I love more than my life."

With breath indrawn he listened for her answer.  Her face was hidden
from him, but her voice, calm, without a trace of the fear which had so
lately made of her a clinging child, braced him like strong wine.  It
also rebuilt the barrier between the priestess and the man.

"Have no fear, Master Richard.  The law is just.  I have acted like a
helpless child and for that I crave your pardon.  I was not afraid ...
just weak and a woman.  You must go now.  You are needed."

Aye, he was needed!  Kate-o'-the-Mill might have seen a golden kingdom
bathed in the sunshine of her vision of Master Anson's future, but
assuredly none of it gilded the terror and darkness with which he
fought during the succeeding hours and days.  The courage that is the
heritage of gentle blood, the iron will given by a Puritan discipline,
were strained to the uttermost while Richard strove to preserve his
frail vessel from the raging powers of sea and air.  During the greater
part of the time he manned the helm himself, keeping his little craft
plumb as might be in the gulfs and on the racing crests of the sea.
Light came not with sunrise but a grey fog above and blinding curtains
of wind-blown spray and rain which wrapped the ship in their folds.
Like a storm-tossed leaf, the galley drifted on eddies of wave and wind
towards an unknown goal.  Cowed by the struggle, his crew at times
whimpered like frightened beasts, begging him to tell them in what
direction they were being borne.  To one of them, shaken by the
certainty of doom which he imagined that he saw upon his captain's
face, Anson replied through clenched teeth:

"You ask me whither we are bound?  To hell or through Anian ... it
matters not!"

With a despairing glance at the white face of his commander who was
heading the ship into the darkness, the man slid forward, clinging to
the rail, his hands numb with the terror that possessed him.

Lacking Auria, Master Anson had grave doubts as to whether he could
have survived the unparalleled strain of those days and nights.  When
he was relieved from his watch, she always had ready the warm food and
drink needed to restore his strength and the inspiration afforded by
the sight of her carried him through the succeeding hours.  He
marvelled at her smiling confidence in life, her assurance that what
she persisted in calling the Law would bring good out of evil, safety
out of danger.




CHAPTER IX

MORE MYSTERIES

On the evening of the fourth or fifth day (so merged were day and night
that time was not reckoned) Master Anson had placed a seaman at the
helm before retiring to Auria's cabin for a brief interval of rest.
The wind had somewhat abated, although a dangerous sea was still
running.  He felt that the man could be trusted provided no change
occurred which might call for unusual skill.  Ahead, there was a waste
of leaden-coloured waves veiled by drifting clouds but, to westward,
stars were glittering through rifts in the flying wrack.  There was
also a perceptible warmth in the breeze that whipped through the wet
rigging of the _San Rafael_.  Richard's heart was greatly lightened by
reason of it all.

He came to the cabin with a brave smile upon his lips.  On the
threshold he paused abruptly.  In the dim light he saw Auria kneeling
as if engaged in prayer.  As he slipped softly forward he noticed that
before her upon the low, carven chair against which she leant there
stood a crystal bowl filled with water.  Into this the girl was
silently gazing with a fixed intensity.  Her back had been turned but
now his footsteps aroused her.  She stood swiftly erect, kept her face
averted for a moment, then looked towards him.  Richard was startled by
her pallor and the wide, unseeing eyes which held no response to his
own.

"Auria, I was about to crave pardon for having interrupted you.  But
this which you are doing can be no good thing.  Without, the sky is
light.  Why these ways of darkness which have power but to injure you
who tempt them?"

Languidly, as if to recover her normal mood, she stood plucking at the
edges of the robe which was drawn loosely over her bosom.  Her voice
was thin and lifeless but gathered fullness as she spoke.

"My light is darkness to you.  When all one loves is in danger, why not
use knowledge to save?  The future we should all wish to know were it
permitted."

Master Anson felt a sudden glow of warmth at heart.  "All one
loves"--she had said that.  His ears had heard it.  Yet, as he looked
at her with a dawning hope in his eyes, he felt his ardour flicker and
die.  Half-child, strangely undeveloped, and half-sprite she seemed as
she stood before him, her slight form swaying like a reed in the wind.
There was little there to stir the adventurous blood in a man, yet--he
had memories--memories of a flame against his breast which had left
flesh tingling and a song at the heart of him.  It had not been the
earth-tang of English lanes.  That he had known and understood in a dim
way.  What was it that drew him to this slim maid of air and fire--this
woman who held while she repelled him?  He watched her curiously as she
curled herself up like a kitten upon her couch.  She held out her hand
to her Inca bird perched upon the chest at her side.  The sibyl was all
child now, her eyes sparkling mischievously, a soft pink flush
replacing the whiteness of her cheeks.  She smiled at Anson.

"The storms are over.  To-morrow there will be glorious sunshine.
Come, sir, do smile--just a little!  You must be tired.  Please, do lie
upon my couch, boots and all.  Yes, look!  I will sit here upon the
chest.  My bird would have me play with him."

She prattled like a school-girl and, a few minutes since, she had been
Auria, the priestess of dark mysteries beyond his comprehension!  After
much protesting Anson complied with her mood.  Propped up on her
cushions, he felt relief from the physical strain of the days and
nights when he had held the _San Rafael_ against the power of the
elements.  Now, a certain incompleteness, an indefinable impatience,
kept tugging at his nerves.  He rose upon his elbow to look at her.

"Auria, will you never tell me all that I would know--the mystery about
you--the strange things that are a wall between us--your past?"

"And which question, sirrah, would you have me to answer first of all?"

There was a touch of coquetry in her tone.  Then, as she looked into
the serious blue eyes so near her own, her glance fell.  When she met
his gaze again she was the woman he knew to his undoing, remote--in a
world beyond his imagining.

"There is truly a part of me which is hard for you to understand ...
unless you will come out of your world into mine."  She noted the
bewildered look which he bestowed upon her.  "Love--ah, yes--you have
spoken to me of love!  Do you know that love is cruel--a two-edged
sword that slays and saves?  Do you know that sacrifice is the very
essence of love?  I have a certain power beyond that of others, but I
cannot use it except in the service of my fellow-creatures.  I am
bondwoman to a law which is greater than myself."

"Has it always been thus, Auria?  Was there never a time when you were
altogether as other women?"

Quietly, a little sadly, she continued, "You would know of my past.
Something you may know of it, if it will please you, although there is
little enough to be told.  Have you ever had a dream--a wonderful dream
which you wished might never end?  Then, have you wakened to find that
it had gone beyond recall, only fragments of light remaining to make
you ache through the hours when you tried to rebuild it all again?"

The recollection of a certain dream was strong upon Master Anson--an
obsession which haunted him by day and night.  Somewhat grimly, he
admitted that he had experienced visions of the sort to which she
referred.

"Well, my early childhood was like that," continued the princess.  "I
can remember my mother's face, her soft brown breast, and another
face--white, like yours--that came, now and then, and looked at me.  He
had a sword-belt like that"--she touched Anson's leathern baldric--"and
a cap with plumes in it like this"--again she pointed to his Milanese
bonnet, gay but bedraggled by moisture--"but this face--my
father's--came not often and when he went away my mother cried and
rocked me softly, hour after hour, under the green vines before our
door.  Then the white face came no more and my mother grew frail and
thin, a beautiful brown shadow that stole silently in my wake as I
became a romping child in love with the sunshine and the many-coloured
birds and butterflies.  I knew little of the sorrow that was in my
mother's heart, being but a baby, but, as I grew older, I understood.
Often, as the moon rose over the great trees of the forest about our
village, I sat with her gazing silently down a winding trail that
disappeared into the depths of the jungle--watching and waiting.  It
became a sort of ritual to be performed every evening when all was
quiet and before we retired to sleep.

"Then a day came when we prepared for a long journey.  Taking me by the
hand, my mother led me through the forests until we reached a higher
country, where there were fewer trees and where we could see the tops
of a snow-capped mountain range lying against the hot, blue sky.  I
became very tired--we drank often from the goat-skin bag of water which
my mother carried slung across her shoulders--but, at last, we came to
the mouth of a rude cave in the wall of a ravine.  There an aged man,
his hair white as snow, but his eyes bright and young as those of my
playmates in the village, met us and took me by the hand.  He looked
long and deeply into my eyes, then, turning to my mother, he told her
many wonderful things.  I was to be taken to the ancient temple of our
people to become a neophyte--a daughter of the gods.  I would be a
blessing, he said, to our poor, down-trodden race and a terror to their
oppressors.  I cannot tell you all that he said."

"Did you go to the temple?" interrupted Richard.

"Yes, but again, I cannot tell you of my life there.  You would not
believe me.  Our religion is very old and its mysteries have been
handed down from the foundation of the world."

Anson frowned.  "There is but one true faith.  All else is of the
powers of darkness," he said.

"We will not dispute about that," Auria replied gently.  "I may tell
you that I became an initiate into these mysteries and some strange
power was given me over my people.  They came to me in their sorrow and
went away healed and full of courage to go forward.  They learned that
although the Spaniard might torture their bodies, he could not destroy
their souls.  They learned, too, that evil can best be met by kindness
and not by force.  It was a hard lesson.  The Spaniards, lured by the
hope of plunder, had ransacked every temple within march of the city of
Mexico.  Ours alone, of all near the capital, remained untouched, and
this my people attributed to my presence.  They were mistaken.  It was
I who first attracted the spoiler towards their sanctuary."

Auria paused as Master Anson exclaimed, "You did this?  Nay, it cannot
be that you betrayed your trust?  It were hard to believe that."

The girl smiled.  "I am not perfect.  I might even have done that.  It
so happened, however, that the harm was unwittingly brought about.  I
was," she blushed and turned from him so that he could not see her
eyes, "said to be very beautiful and the Spaniards--the young
adventurers who repair their fortunes in our lands--doubtless long for
the fair company which they left in the Court of Spain."  She covered
her face with her hands.  "I cannot bear, even now, to dwell on those
days.  Our temple was sacked and our villages burned.  The innocent
blood of our people stained the altars where I had taught them only of
love, while I, powerless to help them in their need, was carried away a
captive to the viceroy's capital."

Anson leaned forward.  His hand, on the silken coverlet, trembled.
Auria's fingers were interlaced tightly now, her face still averted.

"Love," she said in a tone so low that he could hardly hear the words,
"love--what do we know of love?  Yet they were courteous after the
manner of their nobility.  I have seen faces go white with desire.  Is
it a crime to be beautiful?  Oh, if they had only known how little I
had to give!  I am not as other women.  I do not want children.  Yet, I
love all children.  Wife I cannot be and I cannot play with love.  I
have often wondered if I can love--you have my meaning?--in a human
way!"

"Were you long at the viceroy's Court?" Richard said abruptly.

"It was not long," she faltered.  "The tribes rose in arms.  My people
would not be stilled until I had been returned to them.  They did not
seem to fear death and the Spaniards were sore harassed until the
viceroy decided that I must be removed from the country.  You came upon
me when, by his orders, I was being taken to Lima."

As she sat there torn by the memory of the tragedy of her people, her
grief was borne in to Anson as a tide which moved him mightily towards
her.  Such a child to have been the centre of conflicting storms of war
and passion!  He would willingly have folded her in his arms, for there
was that in her which called to the protective masculine instinct in
him.  He leaned closer to her and ventured to place his hand upon her
shoulder.

"Auria, do you regret that you fell in with our general and all that
has followed?  Can you forget the past?  Where we are at present,
Heaven only can tell, but our ship has held.  It will bear us in good
time to some shore, I doubt not.  Will you still insist that you be
returned to the dark lands where all these evils were yours, or will
you not trust to an honest English heart that would shelter you from
all dangers?  Our course has been, for the main part, northward.  There
remains Anian and a short passage to the land of your fathers if, God
willing, we can find the way."

Auria rose from the chest where she had been sitting.  "I do not
know--I am not of the sea--why your heart burns to find this new
passage to your English home.  You have spoken often of it.  It was on
your lips as you steered our ship through the horrors of the last few
days.  I remember, in your dreaming as you slept in my lodge in the
forest exhausted after your hunting, that Anian would murmur through
the broken words about Devon and Plymouth and Drake and the _Golden
Hind_.  Would it make you happy to find this passage-by-sea?"

Anson seized the hand nearest to him and drew her towards him.  His
heart was beating madly.

"Happy?  Aye, Auria, I am a man and would fain be happy.  It is in your
power to speak the word that would make me that as nothing else could."

Gently but firmly the girl withdrew her hand and stood a little
distance away from him.  Again he felt the invisible barrier, icy and
impenetrable, that held him from her.  In the dim candle-light she
looked ethereal, not akin to his world of flesh and blood.  In the
brooch upon her bosom the eyes of the serpent glittered frostily.  An
unexpected interruption caught the attention of both man and woman.
The little Inca bird which Auria had placed upon the chest when she
arose from it had screamed shrilly.  With all its feathers ruffled, its
eyes beady points of glowing fire, it was advancing slowly towards
Anson.  As it walked it clung unsteadily to the cloth covering of the
box.  Hastily Auria stooped and gathered it into her hands, smoothing
its plumage and murmuring softly to it.  She looked apologetically at
Master Richard.

"It is a strange bird.  During the storm it sat cowering in its cage,
refusing to come out and hop about the room as it does usually.  Then,
just before you came, it demanded to be released, and seemed aware that
the danger was past.  I feel that it is a link with my own land.  You
remember that the natives believe that the spirit of the Incas is in
it.  You must not heed its moods, Master Anson.  It feels only for what
concerns the mysteries of the unseen world."

"It is these mysteries, madam, which stand between you and me."  Anson
rose from the couch and reached for his cap.  "I must leave you now.
The ship demands my care."  With his lips firmly set, he bowed and left
her.

When he had gone the princess sat long upon the edge of her couch while
she caressed the Inca bird.  The soul of her was wavering.  Emotions
whose existence she had ignored, or which had been rigidly repressed,
swept over her, were thrilling through her being as winds upon the
sensitive strings of a harp.  The stern control of the mystery schools
of the Mayas, their asceticism and denial of human affection, had
combined to render her immune to all feeling except compassion for life
in general.  Pity is not love, nor was it pity which moved her when she
thought of Richard Anson.  He was a man capable of moulding fate with
his will to ends of his own.  Courage and strength he possessed in no
ordinary degree.  With head bent low, she leaned over her little pet,
stroking its soft feathers.

"We cannot love him as he needs to be loved, can we, little one?  He
needs something we cannot give him--something warmer and more of his
kind--something that would draw him close to earth and hold him there
to do his work and carve out his life as a gift to his people and to
his country.  We would starve him or take him away.  Then, in the long
nights when he slept, he would go back and leave us alone and our
hearts would break in the darkness."

So intent was Auria upon her thoughts that she did not hear the
suppressed sound of heavy breathing without her door.  The wind was
still shrill in the rigging of the ship and it was not until a sudden
moment of silence that she overheard the strange noise.  It was low,
barely audible, and yet it filled her with inexpressible terror.  It
was as if some great beast lay with nose pressed to the space below her
cabin door.  Chilled, she drew her light garments closely about her and
sat intently watching and listening.  A few moments, interminably long,
intervened before she heard the sound again, and then, distinctly she
was aware of the movement of a heavy body and the scraping as of a boot
upon the deck.  Her cabin door began to open inwards.  Slowly, while
she sat numb and powerless to cry aloud, the space grew wider and the
keen night air rushed in with a sudden gust that extinguished the
candles upon her dressing-table.

In the aperture of her partially opened door there appeared the
outlines of a man's form.  A glance told her that it was one of the
Spaniards whom Anson had placed in irons pending their return to
Mexico.  Ships' prisons are at best but vile sties in which human flesh
turns bestial, and this creature's face, his matted and unkempt hair,
showed plainly the marks of his confinement.  Auria shrank in horror as
if from the breath of the pit.

With the swift movement of a wild animal the man sprang upon her.
After some instants of agony, she found herself bound and gagged, lying
prostrate upon her couch, while, along the deck without, she could hear
her assailant creeping stealthily in search of further prey.  Evidently
he was alone and would most probably continue his prowling until he
obtained weapons or tools with which to free his companions.  At least,
this was the surmise in Auria's mind as she lay gasping for recovery
from the short, sharp struggle.  With all her force of will she sought
to calm her nerves and to think clearly, quickly and to good purpose.

Presently all was still.  The gentle creaking of the cabin door which
was swinging open, the occasional sound of sail or rope flapping in the
wind, were all that broke the silence.

Auria knew that it was highly probable that Anson had not returned to
his duty at the wheel.  With calmer weather in prospect he would likely
seize the opportunity to take a much-needed rest.  Bound as she was,
there was no possibility of warning him of his impending danger, yet,
at any cost, her own life if need be, that message had to be conveyed.
Physically it seemed that nothing could be done.  She exerted her
slight strength until it seemed that veins would break if further
effort were expended.  The desperate dispatch of the Spaniard had made
secure work with the silken sheets which stifled her voice and held
fast her hands and feet.

Then, as she lay exhausted, there came to her the memory of the wisdom
of her people.  The old seer of whom she had but lately told Master
Richard had assured her that it was possible to work out of and
independent of the body in case of need.  He himself had possessed the
power.  Clothed in matter more subtle than the thinnest of air, in a
body formed in every particular like that of its physical counterpart,
he could travel at will to help those in need or to minister to the
weary and sorrow-laden.  She had never been allowed to leave her body
even under the care of the priests, but now her will was exerted to
produce the effect for herself.  For a few minutes she lay perfectly
still, mind and soul concentrated--centred on the one desire.  A
deathly silence pervaded the darkness in the little cabin.  Then the
Inca bird uttered a shrill cry.

When Auria awoke she felt the cool night wind upon her cheeks and,
looking up, she saw the stars between the dark spars of the _San
Rafael_.  Master Anson bent above her, chafing her hands within his
own.  Presently lanterns flashed and, about her, lying upon the deck,
there thronged the grim but honest faces of the English seamen.  Anson
leaned nearer and gazed fearfully into her face.

"Mystery, always mystery, Auria!  I find you bound and helpless, yet, a
short space ago, you stood by my bedside and awakened me.  Praise be to
the Giver of all good, it was a timely awakening.  We owe you our
lives, my princess."

The girl closed her eyes and with an effort drew herself closer until
she lay in his arms.  She murmured, if his ears belied him not:

"Master Richard, I will go with you through Anian."




CHAPTER X

THE STRAITS OF ANIAN

Following the storm that had driven the _San Rafael_ northward, there
succeeded a period of halcyon weather.  Hakluyt records that Drake
experienced vile fogs and arctic temperatures in these regions, but
modern chroniclers more often speak of the prevailing warmth of the
North-west coast due to the benign influence of the Japan current.
Into sparkling seas swept by balmy breezes redolent of Oriental perfume
and colour, the tiny craft entered joyously.  Cloudless skies, blue as
those which domed the classic gean, chaste dawns clad in white and
gold, and evenings which merged into glittering starlit nights,
combined to erase memories of terror and threatening doom.  As flowers
expand in the sunlight, the hearts of master and crew grew light and
filled with the joy of living.  No fear of the future, no uncertainty
as to the final event could cast a shadow while all revelled in the
happiness of the moment.

Auria spent little time in her cabin now.  Like a tropical plant,
sunshine and air were her natural foods.  Anson had marked the fact
that she ate only minute quantities of the simplest fare which the ship
afforded.  Playfully and, at times, half-anxiously he had reprimanded
her for not taking more solid nutriment, reminding her that a body was
necessary in order to give expression to a soul.  She had promised to
eat more, but the pledge had always been forgotten.  Now, she was
standing upon the forecastle deck, a group of seamen about her,
watching the antics of her Inca bird which was playfully attacking each
of the men in turn.  Under a white veil of gossamer flung about her
head and shoulders, the tide of her golden hair was shining like
imprisoned sunlight, while every gesture, naturally graceful, revealed
the charm of her beautifully moulded body.  Anson's heart, as he moved
forward to join her admiring audience, sang with pride in the knowledge
that she had chosen him as her captain in the adventure ahead.  England
was very far away, and time would be ample to woo her from the memories
of her mysterious youth.  He was glad to see her fraternising with her
own kindred, the sturdy salts of Kent and Devon.  It was all as he
would have wished it to be.

When Richard appeared within the circle of smiling faces, the girl
paused in her play and gathered her pet into her hands.

"He is a naughty little bird.  He likes to tease.  Look!  He has
well-nigh torn the buckles from Oxley's shoes.  But he knows no shame!"

Subduing their hilarity, the crew doffed their headgear to Master Anson
and then, without waiting for orders, drifted from the deck, betaking
themselves to tasks or leisure in other parts of the vessel.  With a
twinkle in his eyes, betokening understanding, Richard watched the men
as they disappeared, leaving him in undisputed possession.

"It pleases me well, madam," said he, "to see you helping my poor lads.
They have been through grievous days and your smiles hearten them."  He
paused--then, "Some of them have wives and daughters whom they have not
seen since they kissed them farewell before sailing westward to unknown
adventures.  But, by God's grace, they will come again to know the joys
of home and fireside."

"And so will you, Master Richard.  Are there not those who await your
coming?"

A shadow clouded the smile in his eyes.  "There were some, but those
who would have mourned most deeply have gone beyond tears.  Yet there
are many left who will be glad, methinks, to see me again.  They are a
kindly people in Devon and their memories are long.  You will love that
countryside or I am mistaken."

"Is it very beautiful?" asked Auria.  "Indeed, I have tried hard to
imagine it, but I have seen only my country as you know."

"Nay--if you will pardon me, Auria--you have still to see your own
country.  You are English.  Your eyes, your hair, those roses in your
cheeks are not of Mexico, but are of the sort that grow in English
lanes, or in the Court of our good Queen Bess.  Will you not try to
realise this?  You ask me if England is a fair country?  I reply that
it is the fairest God has made.  Oh, I too have memories of the land
which you miscall yours.  My first adventurings with General Drake led
me through your verdurous forests, with their wild luxuriance of
blossom and leaf, their gaily painted birds and the insects that
flashed like living gems in the shade of the jungle.  It is like a
dream to me now--a dream of a fantastic fairyland of light and shadow
and weird shapes that build themselves into my fancy and dissolve again
like summer clouds.  But, Auria--Auria--if you could wander with me
down a lane I know in Devon when spring comes softly over the hills,
and the air is heavy with the scent of violets and primroses--when the
dew lies sparkling on moss and bracken, and it is all like Eden after
the Lord had called it good--then you would know why it is home to me
as it will be to you."

"I doubt not that all of the world is filled with beauty," murmured the
girl.  She raised her head and looked inquiringly into his eyes.  "What
of the men and women?  They would not understand my people nor my ways?"

"They are your people," Richard retorted impatiently.  More gently he
continued, "There are God-fearing, honest folks as well as rogues in
all places.  This I know.  I am trying to picture you to myself in your
own country.  You love colour.  Then, it is certain that you would be
entranced by the magnificence of the Court, and of London when it dons
its festive attire.  The masques and the pageants, too, when wit and
beauty gather to refresh themselves with a riot of laughter and music
amid a blaze of rainbow hues, would delight you mightily.  Though we
have stern and bloody work abroad with the Dons, there is everywhere at
home a stirring of new life.  Gold is spilled like wine to blazon the
prestige of our sovereign and the glory of England.

"I have memories of the progress of her Majesty through our quiet
countryside when the nights were red with beacons and the lanes golden
corridors lighted by a thousand torches.  The good Devon yeomen were
staggering with the profusion of beef and ale, while the gentry, in
glittering raiment of velvet and cloth of gold, vied with each other in
the display of gems and costly ornaments.  Mummers and strolling
players crowded the inn-yards, which appeared like the enchanted courts
of Fairyland all bedecked with ribands and points.  Everywhere there
was merriment and life and laughter.  It is pleasing in the sight of
God that we should spoil His enemies and convert their treasures to the
glory of the true faith.  Oh, it is a goodly land, Auria.  There is
none like it on earth, and your love will go out to it, by God's grace,
and rest there content."

"I have no doubt that it will interest me much, and that I shall be
glad to have seen it," said Auria.  She had unbound her hair.  The robe
which she wore intensified the golden shade of her skin which, in
texture and colouring, would have delighted an artist of ancient
Greece.  Her tropical blood was nowhere else apparent but through her
flesh, as from a vase of fine porcelain the Southern suns shed their
old enchantment.  Her hand upon the rail touched Richard's.  He let his
own hand follow its impulse, covering her fingers while he looked at
her.

"You will not want to go elsewhere having seen it.  If I could only
hope that my home would be yours--always..."

Auria did not immediately withdraw her hand.  She leaned imperceptibly
towards him.  Her cheeks were flushed, but it might easily have been
the fresh breeze whipping the bunting above her head that brought the
colour to them.  Master Anson felt his breath quicken as her intangible
warmth and softness seemed about to envelop him, then, suddenly, she
drew away from him while she pointed to starboard.

"Look, look, Master Anson!  Is it some great creature of the sea?
Look, oh, look!  It is there again!"

Following the direction of her arm, Richard's eye perceived the cause
of her excitement.  A solitary whale, rising at intervals to the
surface, had caught the girl's attention.  The sunlight glittered on
the dark bulk which disappeared smoothly amid the waves.  Without
analysing the reason therefor, Anson hoped that it would stay under.
It so happened.  The girl turned to him with a disappointed look in her
eyes, a pretty pout upon her lips.

"Let us go down.  I have been ransacking my chest.  There are some
strange jewels--weirdly beautiful--which I received from the hands of
an old priest at Chichen Itza.  They are full of lightning.  I will
show them to you."

She tripped lightly along the deck, the tips of her fingers still
touching the man's hand.  Anson had never seen her so vital, so full of
nameless charm.  He was stirred, vaguely bewildered, although a certain
anger filled him because his suit, delivered in all earnestness, had
been so lightly thrust aside.  Her gaiety continued as they made their
way aft.  It was checked only momentarily when, on the gang-plank, they
touched the remnants of the broken chains which had held the slaves to
the oars.  The princess shivered, paused, and allowed Master Richard to
place a protecting arm about her waist.  In this manner they entered
her cabin.

Auria, disengaging herself, ran forward to open the great, carven chest
which stood at the head of her couch.  Its brass hinges, rusted
somewhat, offered resistance.  The lid was heavy.  Anson assisted her.

"How strong you are, Master Richard!"  There was a subtle feminine note
of worship in her voice.  Then, from the depths of a tangle of silken
finery, she extracted a small box of polished wood.  This, when opened,
revealed a marvellous collection of Mexican opals.  On a bed of black
cloth they lay--coruscating, imprisoned rainbows, smothered lightnings,
fires of the pit flashing through clouded veils of pearl and filmy
smoke.  Anson had not seen gems of this species before, and to him they
were magical and to be feared.  Nevertheless he was drawn by the spell
of their beauty.

"Come, sit by me."  Auria looked up at him with a mild expression of
inquiry in her eyes.  "You are not afraid of them?  He was a good man
who gave them to me.  Many like these are found in my country.  Are
they not glorious?"

The girl compelled Richard, who was threatened by a strange trembling,
to sit by her upon the couch while she displayed the jewels.  Her head
was against his shoulder.  The intoxication of her hair was a golden
mist before his eyes.  To complete his undoing, there glittered upon
her bosom, rising and falling gently as she breathed, the mysterious
Serpent of the Incas.  His subconscious memory, stirred into a
temporary wakefulness, whispered strange things to him of places and
ages remote and alien to Richard Anson, gentleman adventurer of
England.  He was standing again in a high-ceiled palace chamber gazing
at the pale face of a queen who saw him not but who held, clasped in
her hand, the fateful jewel of her avenging gods.

Auria exclaimed as Anson hurriedly sprang to his feet.  Upon the man's
face there was an expression which made her wonder if he was really
afraid of the opals which lay scattered upon her counterpane.

"You will pardon me, Auria."  His voice was unnatural and distant.  "I
have neglected some work which needs must be done.  At some moment when
leisure permits--an I may have that privilege--I shall be pleased to
examine your treasures."

With a courtly bow he was gone, leaving the maiden sorely puzzled by
his hasty change of manners.

With the evening there came indications of a decided change in the
weather.  The sea, which all that day had lain like a polished mirror
reflecting the cloudless blue of the sky, was now in a restless mood.
A short, choppy swell was running before the gathering force of a
south-westerly wind, while a dark wrack of clouds lay like a sinister
barrier along the horizon.  The water was dull grey in colour, full of
shadows which merged in the distance with the low-lying bank of vapour.
Stars were beginning to shine fitfully, like flying storm signals,
through rifts where green strips of sky showed through the blackness
ahead of them.  To westward and in the wake of the _San Rafael_ gusts
of rain obscured the sight, effectually blotting from view the
darkening waves.

Having given directions to his crew to prepare for a rough night, Anson
stood alone upon the half-deck at the stern of the ship.  His heart was
at one with the gathering storm.  Unwittingly, as a child might tear up
a flower by the roots, Auria had once more violently aroused the
long-repressed desire in the man and had shaken his control.  Had she
known, she would have knelt to him for pardon.  Her coquetry was
unconscious, the product of a superabundant vitality which had
blossomed in the sunshine of the last few days.  It brought a glowing
joy to her to feel that Master Anson was happy upon his homeward
voyage.  In the meantime, the priestess and sibyl had been submerged by
the spirit of the woman-child who rejoiced in life while she radiated
the very breath of it in every movement.  Consciously to use her
feminine powers where her heart was not pledged was impossible to one
of her fineness and innate nobility.  For the rest--her beauty and
womanliness--she was not to be blamed.  Nature has coloured the flowers
and has given them fragrance for the fulfilment of her own great
purposes.

However, the philosophy of the matter was of little avail to the man
whose being was swirled hither and thither by conflicting tides of duty
and desire.  At this moment he was rejoicing fiercely in the rising
storm.  He felt a temporary sense of relief when the ship was overtaken
by the rain and her decks were suddenly swept by a pelting shower.
Looking at the men toiling in the waist, he perceived one of them
struggling hardily to fasten down the shrouds which had been partially
torn loose by the onslaught of the wind.  The seaman's strength and
will were tasked to the uttermost but, with dogged persistence, he bent
to his work until the last rope had been securely fastened to the side
of the vessel.  No pious ejaculation but a sound curse was upon the
sailor's lips as he turned to meet his captain whom he presently saw
standing beside him.  He felt that his master, being a seaman, would
understand that words were in some cases a relief and that no
disrespect was implied.

Jack Kent was the sturdiest and the least respectable of the lot of
English prisoners who had been rescued by Anson.  He was the stuff of
which buccaneers are made, ready for any reckless adventure so it
brought him means to quench his longings for the fleshpots.  Principles
he had none, being unmoral.  Yet, in pious company, he could sing a
psalm or quote Scripture with the best of them.  He stood, now, looking
curiously through his matted locks at Master Richard who had laid a
hand upon his shoulder.

"Hearken, my man, you have done more than your share.  I warrant you
can carry a pottle of sack discreetly.  There is a cask of Canary in my
cabin that has not been opened since it was brought aboard.  The Dons,
cursed though they be by all manner of vileness, know good wine.  Come,
we will drink to our safe homecoming and the end of these hard days!"

Nothing loath, Kent followed his master.  Entering Anson's cabin, he
stood silently while the candles were being lighted.  This done, he
wiped the sea-water from his ruddy cheeks and beard while he gazed
about him in a bewildered manner as though uncertain whether to sit or
stand.  Cap he had not upon his grizzled locks, and his frame, which
seemed of more than ordinary bulk at all times, appeared huge by reason
of the dim light and the smallness of the room.  A buff belt about his
waist held together the remnants of what had once been a smart doublet
of russet leather.  His black eyes were small, shifting uneasily before
a straightforward glance, and twinkled when he saw a small butt of
Canary being trundled from under the captain's bed.  His embarrassment
disappeared as he assisted in the task of opening it.  He seated
himself comfortably upon a chest while Anson filled a glass brimful of
the sparkling liquor.

"This for the man who hauls the ropes," said Anson as he passed the cup
to Kent.  "Not that I cannot haul to good purpose myself, if need be.
Don't scowl at it, man!  It is the best, or I warrant you the Spaniard
would not have hidden it in his hold.  Let us drink to General Drake
and his hearties!  Under God's favour, they should be well on their way
to England--mayhap, within sight of her ere now!"

Richard poured a smaller portion for himself, but drank it with quite
as much show of abandon as if it were an ordinary affair with him.
Kent's admiration was aroused by the joviality of his captain.  The
seamen had all liked but had not understood Master Anson.  His
melancholy, his aloofness, and the serious purpose which usually
dominated his expression had combined to give them the opinion that
upon festive occasions he would be a mar-feast.  Nothing like good
liquor to break down the barriers between man and man!  Kent felt now
that the master was human--a man of the same clay as himself.

"No need for book or candle to frighten away goblins with this under
one's belt, eh, sir?"  Kent relaxed his loose bulk and sprawled upon
his seat.  Partially he sought the support of the cabin wall for the
ship was rolling heavily, while, through the wooden sides and the deck
above, the thud of the waves and the wash of the spray were plainly
audible.  Anson filled the glasses again.

"It may be longer before we bask in the sweet smiles of our sovereign
mistress, the queen, but we will, Kent, we will," said Richard.
"To-night I have a vaporish humour that needs quenching.  You may not
have my meaning.  But, do you never long for the lights of London, the
merriment which no fiend can withstand, for your boon companions and a
wench?"

The seaman chuckled.  "I fled England with a warrant at my heels.  I
liked venison too well and the wenches, God bless 'em.  I may yet
dangle from a tenpenny cord or a yard-arm, but I may say that I have
lived, sir ... I have lived.  Even when the Papists had me, under the
broiling sun in Mexico, there were compensations, an I may say it ...
compensations."  He mouthed the last word as if it had a savoury taste.
Wondering inwardly, but without resistance, he permitted his supply of
wine to be replenished.  He glanced surreptitiously at Anson.  In his
dull, ox-like brain there was stirring a desire to estimate the man.
To himself he reasoned, "He is one of the slim, cold kind that never
show their drink.  And we thought he never touched it.  How we were
fooled!  Lord, how we were fooled!"

Anson's voice, smooth, tense and fine, came to him now from some
uncertain place in his immediate vicinity.

"Compensations, said you?  How could there be compensations in that
hell?  You were a slave, were you not?"

Kent roused himself to defend his statement.  He raised his hand
deprecatingly, rather unsteadily.

"Hush, sir!  There are those among the crew that are different from
Jack Kent.  They would hold it against me ... but they don't know it
all ... and what they don't know won't hurt 'em.  You, being as you are
a gentleman, will understand.  It was not the Spaniards that took me,
in the first place, but a pair of bright eyes and a slip of a woman
that held more fire in her than the stoutest wench in Devon lanes.
Between you and me, sir, the native women are marvels.  I'd have stayed
happy for the rest of my days, but the Spaniards found me.  Not that
it's the same as being married.  No man who is not crazy would think of
marrying into a breed less than his own.  No Englishman would do that
... the Lord made us different ... aye, the Lord did that!" The
sailor's wits gave him no further aid in his argument; in truth, they
had forsaken him.  However, he attempted to draw himself into a more
dignified posture.  "We are the salt of the earth..." he began once
more.  The effort was unavailing and he sank back, limp and befuddled,
into his former comfortable position.  Anson's hand upon his arm
aroused him.

"Come, Kent, another glass and then you must take yourself off.  It
will be a bad night and we may need all hands.  The salt air will clear
your head, lad."

The captain's hand was none too steady as he guided his companion to
the door of the cabin and bade him a rather boisterous farewell.  The
manners of a boon comrade of the tavern accorded but slightly with
Master Anson's temperament.  However, he could act the part.

In every man there are two beings--one of the jungle, a part of his
long journey in the past when there was no light save that of the
primitive hungers, and another which is a brighter fire, not of the
earth but of the beauty which hides therein.  Men in whom the Vision
has dawned are more disastrously affected by over-indulgence of the
senses.  Kent could have swilled sack and ale until daylight and then,
after a hasty douse of cold water or a nap, could have taken hold of
the day's work with a laugh upon his lips.  Richard, recovering from
the several cups hurriedly swallowed, would on the following day be a
nervous wreck.  In the meantime his hand was off the helm and the brute
in him, usually quiescent, was now in complete control.  For an instant
only, as he sank to a sitting position upon his couch, did he struggle
against the overwhelming tide that swept through him.  Kent's standard
of life, ordinarily powerless to affect Anson, had touched him at a
moment of weakness.  Yes, Kent--an Englishman of his own breed--was
right.  He, with less courage than the seaman, had been a fool--an
idealistic fool who held women, of whatever race, upon the pedestal of
an airy dream.

Out into the night and the storm which was tossing the _San Rafael_ to
and fro like a bit of driftwood, Anson staggered as a man driven by an
unseen power.  The lurching of the vessel threw him against projecting
obstacles, bruising and battering his flesh, but the cabin door which
he sought was close at hand.  The rain, drifting in gusts before the
wind, shut out sight and sound from other parts of the ship.  Slowly,
with the pent-up force of his will behind it, he put his shoulder to
the door.  He felt the wood strain, heard the iron which held the bolts
parting from the jambs and a moment thereafter he was standing in the
darkness within the room.  There was a muffled scream and a rustling of
robes as a form slipped past him towards the light of the door.  A
quick movement of his arm caught and held her.

"Not so fast, my mistress!"

"Richard ... you..."

They were startled by a piercing cry which sounded in their ears.  Like
a leaf borne upon a gale the Inca bird flew past them into the night.
At almost the same moment a dull, grinding shock thrilled through the
vessel, shaking the timbers beneath their feet.  The _San Rafael_
trembled like a frightened animal, shrouds rattling, yards and masts
quivering under some terrific strain.  From the waist of the vessel and
forward there came to them cries and the shouting of men.  Suddenly the
floor seemed to slip from beneath them as the ship lurched sideways and
began to settle to starboard.  They were already in water to their
knees before the complete truth came home to them.

"Richard ... Richard..."--he felt her arms about him--"you thought only
of me!"

Without answering, the man gathered her into his arms and staggered
through the opening of the door behind them.  Into the waters which
were overwhelming the doomed ship, he sprang outward with her as far as
his strength permitted.




CHAPTER XI

ON SAVAGE SHORES

Blackened and charred, shot through with dull crimson, the smouldering
remnants of day clung to the rim of the hills.  The waters which had
rippled gaily throughout the summer's day now lay beneath a ghostly
pall of mist.  Their unbroken surface seemed to be awaiting the touch
of starlight to lift the spell which bound the waves.  Except for the
quavering cry of a water-fowl which, at intervals, echoed eerily from
behind the curtain of the fog, silence and beauty were the sole
guardians of the scene.

So great was the prevailing peace that the sudden grating of a boat's
keel upon the gravel of the beach had all the significance of a
mystery--the advent of a human interest when least expected.  Following
the first sound of wood on stone, several dark shapes clove through the
mists and lay at rest upon the shingle fringing the shore-line.  The
trim outlines, the curved and carved prows, marked them as war canoes
of the Haidas, the master boat-builders of the Pacific Coast.  Men
sprang from the light craft into the shallow water and quickly pulled
them far enough forward to ensure their remaining unmoved by the
receding tide.

Among the group which had disembarked from the first canoe was one who
was apparently in command.  His majestic figure, rendered seemingly
more imposing by the enfolding mist, moved swiftly from crew to crew.
His resonant voice alone was heard to reply at length to the guttural
monosyllables of the other Indians.  Indeed, in any assemblage of men,
Tik-atl, medicine man and chief of the Haidas, would have attracted
attention.  The fire, made from dry driftwood which had been lighted by
the boatsmen, revealed the savage strength of his face--a study, with
lines to delight a sculptor's eye.  Under the red and black of his
war-paint, his squarely moulded jaws, lips sensual but firmly set as a
drawn bow, were features which might have belonged to an emperor of
decadent Rome.  The eyes, however, were those of a jungle beast--the
pupils flecked with tawny fire.  Over his broad shoulders was flung a
robe woven from the wool of the mountain goat, strengthened by the
sinuous fibres of the cedar bark.  A shirt of the same material, edged
with fur and drawn about his waist by an embroidered girdle of cedar
cloth, completed his costume.  Head-dress he had none with the
exception of a narrow band encircling his brows and raven hair.  In
this there were displayed the feathers of the flicker to denote his
dominion over water and air.

While some of the braves tended the fires and prepared food for their
meal, others were engaged in erecting temporary shelters of fir boughs
beneath the overhanging alders which fringed the shore.  The flames
illumined the grey branches of the trees until they resembled fretted
woodwork on the ceiling of the dark, purple sky which, in places, was
gemmed by a glimmering star.  In all other directions, the walls of the
mist shut out the world of water and forest.

Tik-atl, standing erect and motionless by one of the fires, suddenly
stooped to touch the shoulder of a warrior who was shredding dried
salmon into a shallow wooden vessel.  The man's response was that of a
wolf disturbed while eating.  The snarl upon his lips disappeared when
he glanced at the shaman's face.

"Tik-atl forgets that the way has been long.  He may need no food who
is fed by the air and the sea--but I..."

The chief's hand closed like a vice upon the warrior's shoulder.  With
his eyes upon the food before him, the man arose from his crouching
position.

"I come," he said.  "Have your will, O ruthless one!"

Into the shadows beyond the firelight the shaman was followed by his
henchman.  Again the warrior was gripped by the strong hands which,
talon-like, fastened upon his shoulders.  His leader's eyes, glowing in
the darkness like those of a wild animal, held him fascinated, helpless
as a bird before a serpent.

"Tsik-an, hear me!  Why do we live even though we have ventured over
the great seas farther than any have gone before?  Why have the waves
borne us safely over the treacherous white waters of death?"

The man trembled.  "I know whose hand has given us life," he said.
"Greatest of the Great Ones, your totem will stand forever before the
Haida lodges.  Wind and water are servants who bow to your will.  Yes,
I know why you have come.  The white priestess quakes to-night with the
sickness of fear.  To-morrow we will humble the pride of the Salish.  I
know."

The shaman's voice rasped like steel upon steel.

"You know?  Fool!  What do you know?  Have you seen Her?  Have you
gazed upon Her face whose power is the boast of our enemies?  Not by
hatred but by knowledge only can we hope to match the might of the
great Serpent of Wisdom.  Go to your food!  Eat, for to-night you have
need of your strength.  When you have finished, Snake of the Haidas,
get you into the forest on the trail to the Salish lodges.  By
to-morrow's sun I must know how many braves guard the shrine of their
priestess."

The warrior glanced upward in the direction indicated by his leader's
upraised hand.  Above the fog-banks he knew that the mountains were
glimmering now in the twilight and among them the snow-clad peaks
guarding the villages of the Salish.  He drew himself proudly erect,
standing with folded hands before Tik-atl.

"Even though he lives not on air and the breath of steaming blood,
Tsik-an is not a fool.  His strength may help your wisdom.  Because I
hungered, I had not forgotten.  I will go."

Together they returned to the camp-fires.  Tsik-an gorged himself
ravenously upon salmon and salal bread, while the shaman sat
impassively watching the blue flames where the salt in the driftwood
yielded to the heat.  By his side, wrapped in a cedar blanket, lay the
instruments of his black art.  From the far Northern sea, he had
brought them to challenge the might of the white magician whose fame
had threatened his place as the greatest wizard of the Coast tribes.

When the Snake of the Haidas had eaten his fill, he arose and adjusted
his broad belt of matting to make room for a bone-handled knife.  Then,
gathering up from the sand his bow and a quiver full of arrows, he
retreated softly to where the ring of light from the fires melted into
the shadows.  For a moment he stood there, his eyes fixed upon the
shaman who sat stolidly as a wooden idol beside the flickering embers.
Tik-atl did not move.  The warrior slipped into the fog and the
darkness.  Not one of his companions showed by word or sign that they
had noticed his departure.

We, who have travelled far from nature into the complexities of what we
call civilisation, can scarcely understand the sensations of the Haida
warrior who, alone amidst the threatening powers of darkness in a
hostile country, plunged forward through the trackless forest at the
command of his chief.  No greater tribute could be paid to the devilish
power of the medicine man of the North.  His warriors would go through
the seven hells rather than face the terror of his curse.  Truly
Tsik-an was between Satan and the sea.  Behind him was the shaman's
ruthless, implacable will; around him there pressed in the imminence of
the unseen spirit world of darkness; before him was the vague shadow of
a greater power--a magic whose might had thrilled through all the
tortuous waterways of the Coast until it stirred the far-away villages
of the Haidas.

Silently, true to the instinct of the furtive-footed children of the
wilderness, he felt his way upward to the plateau where lay the
stronghold of the Salish.  With the grim will of a stoic, he repressed
his desire to curse when his feet were tangled in the cedar roots and
vine maples or to cry out with fear while the mysterious touch of some
streamer of moss caressed his skin.  He stumbled and fell.  A bed of
soft, brown leaves lay beneath him and there, for a moment, he paused
to rest.  As the coolness of the earth soothed his fevered flesh, his
primitive imagination tried to picture the enemy upon whom he had been
sent to spy.

In the spring of that year, when the salmon were running, a Haida canoe
had fallen into the hands of the Salish.  One, a youth, had later
escaped from his captors and had arrived, spent and worn, to die among
his kinsmen.  While in the throes of the fever which consumed him, he
had raved unceasingly about the white Queen of the Salish.  "Daughter
of the Sun" he had called her--her eyes made of the sky, her hair the
fiery rays of the Sun-god woven into a net through which her white body
glistened like a Tyee salmon fresh from the silver tides, her voice was
the singing of many waters, her touch the red magic of summer moons
which fired the blood to madness.  Tsik-an remembered the face of the
Haida medicine man as he stood listening at the lad's bedside.
Hitherto Tik-atl had been accounted the greatest of the interpreters
among all the Indian nations from the frozen North to the South where
summer was long and it rained in winter.  Now, his fame seemed
tottering.  Raging, the shaman had retired to the fastnesses of the
forest for the space of a moon and then, emaciated but more implacable
than ever, had suddenly appeared and had ordered the war canoes to bear
him southward.  For the honour of the Haidas he would meet the
sorceress of the Salish and destroy her or be destroyed.  Before the
power of his will to hatred the warriors had bowed like reeds.  The
canoes had skimmed the waters like leaves borne onward by the storm of
his passion.

Now, Tsik-an wondered if the white queen's magic permitted her to know
that he was stealing upon her through the night with fire and blood in
his wake.  He dared not think.  He must only obey the will that was
driving him forward.  Above him the stars shone dimly through rifts in
the canopy of leaves.  Far below he could hear the wash of the surf
upon the beach where Tik-atl sat and waited.  He struggled to his feet.

Soon he emerged upon a rocky promontory which commanded a view of the
hills above the vapour enshrouding the sea and valleys.  Below him the
white billows of the mist stretched to the horizon.  Nearer at hand the
dark spears of the firs pierced the fog-curtain, upholding its folds
like flowing draperies.  Above and to his right stood, outlined against
the starlit sky, the majestic peaks of the Coast Range.  Those close at
hand were clothed with dark verdure, while beyond them snow-clad
summits, tier above tier, glistened like temple terraces built by Titan
hands.  Separated from him by a mist-filled ravine he saw, upon a
plateau overlooking the valleys, the clustered fires of the Salish
encampment.  A few more minutes of grappling with rocks, shrubs and
tangled vines would bring him within hearing of his enemy.

He plunged down through the underbrush and was once more enveloped in
the darkness, but, unerringly now, he directed his steps towards his
goal.  An exhausting struggle up the face of a steep declivity brought
him to the edge of the clearing about the Salish village.  Grasping a
young cedar which sprang from a cleft in the rocks, he ensconced
himself upon its curved trunk and, effectually concealed by its
lace-like fronds, he looked out across the space between him and the
nearest dwelling.

The little hamlet was laid out irregularly, about a dozen lodges
comprising the main buildings.  However, according to the custom of the
Coast people, each of these would accommodate several families during
the winter season.  Each of these community lodges was walled by logs
which extended to a distance of eight or ten feet above the surface of
the ground, but the main parts of the dwellings were the excavations
below the ground-level where, tier below tier, platforms extended
around the inside of the houses.  Upon these broad shelves, which were
partitioned into rooms by means of cedar-bark matting, lived the
Indians and their entire households during certain portions of the
year.  At the present time, the weather being mild, everyone lived in
the open and slept at night under crude shelters of shakes which
protected them from the dew and rain.

Tsik-an saw, to his intense disappointment, that the camp was well
guarded by the presence of a large company of braves, all of whom were
well armed.  The Salish warriors had evidently just returned from
hunting or were making preparations for an expedition.  After letting
his eyes take count of the groups of men clustered about the
camp-fires, he directed his attention to the largest of the buildings
which stood upon a little eminence in the centre of the village.  It
was of sturdier construction than the other lodges, being built of
matched and squared timbers skilfully laid together to give it a
finished appearance.  Before it stood a magnificent totem-pole which
towered over the roof-tree of the house, while its apex, carved and
slender, was outlined against the sky above the dark forest on the
farther side of the clearing.  The base of this column was sufficiently
huge to form the entrance to the house.  A doorway was cut clean
through the trunk of the great pole and so arranged that it represented
the mouth of a great saurian which formed part of the symbolic carvings
on the monument itself.  The spy rightly concluded that this was the
temple and dwelling of the white priestess of the Salish.

While he rested in his hiding-place, his snake-like eyes glittering
with excitement, a man detached himself from those seated about the
fires and moved towards him.  The Indian's attention was instantly
caught and held by the strange figure which made its way leisurely in
his direction.  Tsik-an crouched upon his slender support, ready to
slip from it to a more secure shelter.  However, to his great relief,
the man paused and seated himself upon a rock within a few yards of the
rim of the plateau.

Here his face was silhouetted against the light of the camp-fires.  The
Indian noted the brawny forearm and the powerful shoulders of the
stranger, but was more keenly stirred by the fact that the warrior's
garb and features were unfamiliar and mysterious.  Surely no brave of
the Coast tribes had a skin of so fair a complexion, nor were the
tight-fitting garments which wrapped the shapely legs, nor the stained
and tattered doublet of faded velvet like anything which he had seen
heretofore.  Truly the dark robe of woollen cloth loosely flung over
his shoulders was like that worn by Tsik-an's people but, besides this,
a hunting-knife of bronze and a belt of cedar matting were the only
parts of his costume which caused no amazement in the mind of the
Haida.  Apparently unaware of the proximity of the black eyes which
were studying his face, the man looked out over the valleys filled with
fleecy mists and across the canyon to the ranges beyond.  Then Master
Anson, gentleman adventurer, rose and, striding quickly towards the
lodges, disappeared into the nearest of them.




CHAPTER XII

NORTHERN MAGIC

Tsik-an dared to breathe audibly once more.  He would return to Tik-atl
with the news of what he had seen.  Softly and silently as a serpent
uncoiling from a limb, he slid down from his cedar and cautiously began
to feel his way down the cliff and over the slippery moss-covered
ledges.  Scarcely a leaf was stirred, certainly no treacherous pebbles
were dislodged by his descent.  Then, without warning, his heart
bounded violently against his ribs and lay still while he lashed like a
captured python in the grasp of relentless hands which held his throat
in a vice-like grip.

The Snake of the Haidas, if he must perish, could only die as became
his breed.  His arms quivering outwards sensed a body not of ghostly
mist but solid enough, and about it they wound with the desperation of
the drowning.  One terrible moment passed when he could taste his own
blood in his throat and then, with all his remaining strength, he threw
himself backwards.  Crashing through the brush he was hurled together
with his assailant down the face of the cliff.  A sudden stabbing pain
in his head was his last sensation before losing consciousness.

When Tsik-an awoke he was aware of two things.  He was lying upon his
back gazing at a strip of starlit sky through black branches overhead
and there was a sharp point, cold and sinister, pressing against his
throat.  He looked up into the face of the man who was bending above
him, but the light was too dim to permit him to see his enemy's
features.  The Haida spy understood the Salish tongue in which he heard
the question:

"Who are you?  Speak!"

The pressure of the knife touching his flesh brooked no delay.

"A friend."

"Friend?  You lie.  Friends come openly.  Speak!"

Tsik-an tried again.  "Does one approach the sun with wide-open eyes
after long days of darkness?  I feared the great white magic which is
the light.  Even to the far-away places over the waters has come Her
fame to dazzle us.  We could not believe until we had seen."

The Haida appreciated the fact that the blade pressed less relentlessly.

"We feared?  Of what nation are you?"

Fear of death, like strong wine, forced the Indian's brain to act with
lightning speed.

"I am of the North.  The Mighty One, Lord of the Sea and the Wind, is
my master.  He came with gifts to lay upon the altar of the Sun.  He
desired to look upon the face of Her who is greater than himself.  I,
his slave, have disobeyed his will.  I could not wait until the
morning.  Kill me!"

Tsik-an breathed more freely.  The knife's point was removed from his
throat and the weight of his enemy's knee upon his chest was somewhat
relaxed.  His hands, however, were securely tied behind his back.  The
pain in his swollen wrists made him wince when he moved.  But his
loquacity had been effective.  He listened carefully to the words of
his captor.

"I would know more of this master of whom you speak.  Who is he?"

"The greatest of the Sons of Wisdom who have ever been sent to our
people.  Even in dreams the warrior's mind is an opened path which he
treads at will.  The waves of the sea obey him like slaves, the
wolf-winds in the mountains hear his voice and are still.  Being told
of the magic of the Salish priestess, he longed to unite his power with
Hers.  Together, he felt that they could bring peace and plenty forever
to the tribes.  For this he has come--to join Her councils."

The Haida's statements were partially true.  Tik-atl had planned, if
the Salish warriors were present, to appear as an envoy of peace.  If
he found their stronghold unguarded, then he would plunder and burn and
bear back with him the white priestess as a captive.

Master Anson released his grip upon Tsik-an's shoulders.  For a moment
he stood erect, then seated himself upon the projecting root of a fir
tree which was close by the side of his prisoner.  In his new position
the Indian could see his face.  To his astonishment the spy recognised
the strange warrior whom he had studied so closely while upon the edge
of the plateau.  He was given no time for reflection.  Like steel
striking flint, Anson's voice rapped out the next question:

"Where is your chief--now?"

"He is waiting below upon the shore."

There was a long pause during which the wind in the tree-tops and the
distant surge of the surf sounded loud in the Haida's ears.  He was at
a loss to understand this man who spoke so quietly and deliberately.

"I should kill you without hesitation.  Now, I have a mind to spare
your life if you will tell me the truth about your master and his
magic.  You say that he has power over the spirits of air and water.
Whence came this knowledge?  Have you proof of it?  Are these, your
priests, born with the power as a gift, or do they afterwards acquire
it, and how?  This I must know."

Tsik-an marvelled at the strange turn of affairs.  He had expected
death.  The price of life was no betrayal of his chief's plans.
However, wariness was second nature to him.

"You are not of our blood.  Are you not of the race of the white
priestess who talks with the Fire?  What can I teach to a child of the
Sun?"

Anson's reply checked further evasion.

"I know nothing of the magic of our priestess.  This I may tell you.  I
am a victim of her power.  I must learn how to overcome it or remain a
victim.  If your chief can teach me, I will be his servant for a time
and will teach him the white man's art of warfare.  Do you understand?
If you do not, you will die and that shortly."

The starlight flashed upon the blade of a drawn knife in Master Anson's
hand.  Tsik-an, in his imagination, could feel the point of it upon his
throat.  The Haida did not comprehend but his brain, used to acting
quickly in the face of peril, prompted his words.

"The Seer of the Haidas knows.  I have seen him save his children from
the mouths of the hungry waves.  Under his spell, I have seen the wild
Storm Spirits sighing gently as a summer breeze.  When he was a young
man he watched alone in the mountains while he fasted and prayed.  For
many days and nights he fought single-handed with the spirits who
descended from the clouds and came up out of the great waters.  The
Eagle and the Fish were his friends.  They gave him his life and
everlasting dominion over the air and water.  When he returned to our
lodges, he was big with the strength of the wolf-winds and the
white-crested waves that eat the land.  If the white man thinks that I
lie, let him come with me.  I will lead him to Tik-atl.  There he can
learn from the chief what his heart desires to know."

Master Richard was silent.  The beady eyes of the Haida at his feet
watched him furtively.  The Indian could have no idea of what was
passing through Anson's mind as the man swung mentally between a
desperate course and the saner counsels of his reason.

A few months before this night, he with the Princess Auria had fallen
into the hands of the natives of this unknown land.  Later, the bodies
of his drowned shipmates had been washed ashore together with the
wreckage of the _San Rafael_.  By virtue of her knowledge of their
rites and mysteries, Auria had almost immediately taken her accustomed
place as priestess among the Indians.  She had been forcibly removed
from Anson and, surrounded by a close guard of Salish warriors, had
been ensconced in a temple or lodge set apart for her use.  Richard had
vainly attempted to communicate with her.  Finally, by stratagem, he
had gained an entrance to her quarters and, penetrating to her chamber,
he had been terrified and awed by finding her in the midst of strange
sorceries of a nature which left no doubt in his mind as to her
supernatural powers.  Trembling and bewildered in mind and soul, he had
retreated from her sanctum.

Since then he had been distraught by his love and grief, seeking,
within and without himself, for means whereby he could once more place
himself at her side.  The Salish treated him with respect and courtesy,
but would yield neither to threat nor entreaty in the matter of the
princess.  Anson attempted to acquire the secrets of the Indian
mysteries--to seek the sources of Auria's knowledge and superhuman
powers.  But, upon these things, the Salish were dumb.  So it happened
that when he captured the Haida spy it came to him as an inspiration
that he might force from this native some clue to the secret of
communion with the unseen.  No sacrifice upon his own part seemed too
great if by its means he could again hold the hand of the woman he
loved.

As he listened to Tsik-an, his heart was beating premonitory signals of
a great adventure which called to him from the dim world of the
unknown.  In the gloom of the forest, the Haida could not see the
sudden gleam of desperation, the quick tightening of his lips.  Anson
rose and bent above his captive.  With a turn of his knee and hands he
rolled the Snake over in order to release his arms.  Presently Tsik-an
was standing erect and trembling but free.  The stranger's knife
prodded him to attention.

"Haida, lead on to the shore and your chief.  One false move and I will
slit your lying throat.  I have no fear of your warriors.  If I come by
harm except at my own hand, the Priestess of the Sun will send fire to
destroy you utterly."

Silently the Indian glided forward into the thick, scented shadows
while, behind him, Master Richard moved warily, keeping a distance of
several paces to the rear.  The light from the stars was sufficient to
enable him to keep watch upon his enemy's movements.  They halted for a
minute upon the promontory from which Tsik-an had first sighted the
Salish stronghold.  The fog-banks had risen from the waters of the bay
below them and were now draped in folds of pearly mist along the dark
slopes of the mountains.

In his heart Richard experienced an unwonted pain as he looked across
the canyon to the village where Auria reigned in her isolation.  He
wondered if she knew that he was risking his life to gain access to her
world.  Would she care if she saw how lightly he valued his safety in
comparison with the gift of her comradeship?  He might never again be
within sight of her dwelling-place.  However, to be within earshot of
her voice and yet to know her removed and inaccessible was a refined
torture which had well-nigh driven him mad.  Again he was urged forward
by the hope that he might penetrate into her world of mystery--be
admitted, in some way, to a plane of equality with her.  If the Haidas
could tell him of a discipline, a way of approach, the adventure was
absolutely worth while.  If he perished by treachery, then the
heartache would be ended.

Tsik-an was amazed at the folly of a man who walked willingly into the
toils of an enemy.  He reasoned, however, that the strange warrior must
be under the protection of magical powers.  He was in haste to watch
the _dnouement_ when the white man stood face to face with the dreaded
might of Tik-atl.

The descent was comparatively easy as Anson directed his guide into
trails which led directly to the beach.  In less than an hour's time
they emerged into a little clearing overlooking the bay.  There,
between the trunks of the firs, the silvery waters gleamed to the black
shore-line on the opposite side of the inlet, while a thin scarf of
blue smoke showed where the Haida camp-fires lay.  A short scramble
down the slippery bank through an almost impenetrable tangle of ferns
and blackberry vines followed before they stepped out upon the shingle
beneath the alders.  Facing them, ranged about the fires, the Haidas
were standing with bows bent and arrows strung.  In their midst towered
the majestic form of the medicine man.

Even at the distance across the intervening space, Master Anson could
feel the power of the dark eyes which glowed in the sinister face,
rendered more terrible by the red and black paint besmearing its
outlines.  Tsik-an held a brief conversation with his master, at the
conclusion of which the shaman raised his hand.  The bows of the
warriors were relaxed and they quietly disposed themselves in groups
about the smouldering fires, leaving Tik-atl standing alone and apart
from the others.

Tsik-an signed to his companion to advance.  In another moment Anson
stood before the great magician of the Haidas.

"Speak," said his guide in the soft Salishan to which the white man was
accustomed.  "The Mighty One would know from your own lips the thought
in your mind."

"Tell your chief," replied the Englishman, "that I am bewitched.  The
magic of the white priestess makes a wall about her through which I
cannot break.  I seek to know the secrets of your people--of your
gods--that I may be equal to her.  In exchange I shall give him the
white man's knowledge which will make of his young men great warriors
and rulers.  I have helped the Salish to conquer their enemies.  I can
help your nation as well."

In the colloquy which followed Anson had no means of knowing what
passed between the shaman and Tsik-an.  Their impassive faces betrayed
no hint of the feelings which prompted their words.  The spy suddenly
faced him.  He was startled by the sibilant impetuosity of the Indian's
voice.

"The Great One has spoken," he said.  "You will come with us to the
Haida lodges.  There he will teach you the things you would know.  But
first he will talk with the Wind and the Waters.  Then we will know if
this is also the wish of the Raven who made all things.  You must come
with us now.  If there is no treachery in your heart, you too may hear.
Come!"

As he spoke Tsik-an moved towards the water's edge, motioning to Anson
to follow him.  While he complied Richard glanced curiously at the
shaman, who had thrown aside his robe while he stooped to unwrap a
cedar-bark blanket which lay upon the sands.  From it the Haida
selected a rattle of thin wood painted with a weird design in black and
green.  Attached to its handle was a thong of plaited deerskin with
which the Indian fastened the instrument to his belt before resuming
his robe.  In two or three sharp monosyllables he issued orders to the
braves sitting about the fires.  The warriors grunted in reply.  Then
the shaman moved quickly to Anson's side, passed him and led the way
along the slippery shingle of the beach.

With some difficulty Anson followed the forms of the Haidas who glided
silently through the shadows of the trees fringing the shore.  Soon
they passed out of sight of the camp and rounded a headland which
separated them from a little cove.  The beach here was wider than at
the landing-place and, beyond the driftwood and barnacled rocks, was a
broad expanse of sand upon which the surf broke gently, rolling
backwards and forwards in curving lines of silvery brightness.  The
moon, still high above them, held the sea and land in the toils of its
enchantment.

The shaman paused where they stood in the full radiance of the
moonlight.  The Snake motioned to Anson to withdraw with him to the
rocks farther up-shore.  Silently and intently Master Anson watched the
movements of the medicine man who remained standing rigidly erect
gazing out over the water before him.

Presently he dropped his robe from his shoulders and, with a quick
motion of his arm, threw it to some distance from him.  He then stooped
and drew about himself upon the sands a circle some twelve feet in
diameter.  Detaching the wooden rattle from his belt, he stood for an
instant in an attitude of invocation, face upturned to the sky above
him, and then, bending forward with his left arm thrown over his face,
he began rhythmically to swing the instrument with his other hand.
Slowly, lifting his feet in the steps of a stately dance measure, he
traced the inner circumference of the circle.  The low hum of the
rattle increased in intensity until it sounded like the first
mutterings of distant thunder, or the purring of giant wings hovering
above the shadows of the forest behind them.  Tik-atl was chanting now,
his voice rising and falling, blending weirdly with the menacing note
of the rattle and the soft lap and hiss of the waves upon the wet sand.

Anson glanced uneasily backwards in the direction of the black wall of
the forest.  He vaguely felt as if, in answer to the call of the
medicine man, some dim, intangible Presence was gathering its forces
there, taking form from the invisible, nursing its unseen powers into
some sort of smouldering rage which might burst into instant flame.  He
felt suddenly cold and impotent.  He tried in vain to dismiss the
impression that he, the shaman and the Snake were the focus of
attention bestowed by some very real but mysterious intelligence which
stood beneath the drooping sombre veils of the great firs and
cypresses.  He glanced upwards to where the trees crowning the cliffs
were limned against the sky.  Was it some trick of his fancy that
showed him the impossible there?  Although the foliage near him was
immobile, the trees upon the heights were swaying as if in the grip of
a hurricane.  Yet no breath of wind was apparent where he was standing.

His eyes sought Tik-atl.  Within his magic circle, the medicine man was
whirling now in an ecstasy of abandonment.  His bronze skin, covered
with perspiration, glinted in the moonlight like metal bathed in oil.
The rattle, invisible by reason of its momentum, whined and shrieked
about him like a wolf-pack surging in blind fury over its kill.  The
Englishman instinctively reached a hand towards his Haida companion to
assure himself of human contact.  Suddenly, he quailed before the
unexpected.  All was silent.  The Snake of the Haidas knelt beside him
with arms outstretched towards his leader.  Tik-atl, erect, tense,
immovable as if carved from rock, was standing with uplifted head
facing the forest behind and above them.  The relief was momentary only.

Somewhere in the dark labyrinth of verdure there was heard a ripping,
crackling sound as of air split by a thunderbolt.  Towards them,
through the jungle of trees and underbrush, came rushing down a Storm
incarnate which cleft its way like a sword driven through the night.
As the Thing passed over them, Anson, prostrate with fear upon the
shingle, experienced a terror which left an ineffaceable mark upon his
mind and soul.  He, a man, the crowning work of the Creator, had known
the indescribable power of the blind forces of Nature that sweep all
living beings to ends known only to the gods.

Trembling in every limb he pulled himself to his feet.  The magician
still stood erect but, behind him, a great and angry surf was pounding
upon the sands.  The Presence, whatever it might have been, had by its
passage stirred the sea into a tumult.

Anson felt a quick glow of returning strength when the medicine man
left his circle and spoke as he moved towards them.  His voice, even if
harsh and guttural, was human.

"The gods have spoken.  Your wish is to be granted.  They will reveal
themselves to you and, if your courage fails not, you will be taught
the ways of the Water and the Air.  You will come with us to our
country?"

"I will come," said Master Anson.




CHAPTER XIII

AMONG THE HAIDAS

Because of its unusual beauty of colouring, modern travellers have
called Puget Sound the "Opal Sea."  They might as correctly extend this
significant title to all that portion of the Pacific which lies close
to the mainland of British Columbia.  With even more appropriateness
might the term be applied to those straits which lie near what we know
upon modern maps as the Queen Charlotte Islands.  Here the humidity, a
daily shower of mist, tempered by the warm breath of Kuro Siwo, the
Japan current, bequeaths to the atmosphere a spicy sweetness which
brings to perfection the luxuriance of the verdure clothing the shores
of the blue waterways.  From the snowy ranges along the horizon are
condensed clouds which roll or float over the sunlit waters, elusive as
dreams, entrancing in shade as the delicate primroses and pinks of
old-fashioned gardens.  Green islands are enswathed in silk and
gossamer of the filmiest texture, while evanescent robes of vapour are
draped about the lofty firs and cedars which crown their hills.

Yet in this warm region of beauty dwelt the hardiest and fiercest of
the native tribes of the North-west.  The Haidas, the vikings of the
North Pacific, here launched their corsair fleets which carried dread
and desolation to the people of the mainland and more southerly
islands.  In many ways they were a race apart from the other Indians of
the Coast.  Their language was harsher and more vigorous.  Their
warriors were physically superior, with tall, well-knit frames, in
sharp contrast to the shorter and more squat bodies of the Tsimpsean
and Salish peoples.  As in hunting and in war they excelled the other
tribesmen so, in the arts of peace, in the manufacture of their
far-famed canoes, in their basketry and weaving, in their dyeing and
carving, they were the master artists of their world.

Master Anson had been taken without mishap to the chief village of the
Haidas upon the northern island of their group.  Troubled in spirit and
embarked upon a desperate venture, he had, nevertheless, found his
interest aroused and his attention diverted by the many marvels of his
new surroundings.  His first days there had been spent in becoming
acquainted with the manners and customs of his hosts.  Now, in the
bright sunshine of a summer afternoon, he was intent upon learning the
mystery of the making of a war canoe.

While Se-an, the artificer, worked, Richard sat upon the fragrant red
cedar stump of the tree from which the boat was being wrought.  They
were upon the northern slope of a hill overlooking the Haida village
and the sea beyond, and to them, as the work proceeded, were wafted the
barking of the dogs and the cries of the children who played in the
lanes between the houses.  The scent of the cedar mingled with the
warmth of the sun was seductive, but the tapping of Se-an's wooden
mallet upon his stone chisel served to keep the Englishman awake.  He
watched curiously while the naked Haida bent over his task, neatly
cutting out a large oval piece of wood from beneath the prow of his
boat.  This was the finishing touch which would give to the craft its
ability to cleave wind and water with the minimum of resistance.

Fully sixty feet in length with a beam of over eight feet, the great
canoe lay shining in the sunlight, a marvel of symmetry.  No plans upon
paper or parchment had assisted the artist in his modelling.  In his
mind there was a picture and, in his instinct, there stirred the memory
of stormy winds and violent waves which demanded certain qualities in a
vessel that would withstand their onslaught.  After the canoe had been
polished with the dried skin of a dog-fish, the seats for the rowers
would be inserted and tied to the sides with thongs of cedar bark.  The
prow would be higher than the stern and would be carved and painted
with the raven, the bear and the killer-whale, crests of Se-an's
family, while along its graceful sides would be depicted other symbolic
legends of the past.  Completed, it would be a masterpiece of
craftsmanship which no modern workman with all the advantages of
machinery could better either in strength or beauty.

Anson wished heartily that he had a knowledge of the Haida tongue.
Being a sailor, he knew the points of a boat and would have relished
some conversation about the matter, but he had so far discovered no one
in the village, with the exception of the Snake and the shaman, who
could understand his imperfect Salish.  He had almost decided to
attempt some means of telling Se-an how much his work was commendable
when his attention was suddenly attracted by an unusual commotion upon
the hillside below him.  Se-an, roused by the Englishman's exclamation,
also directed his eyes towards the sea.  Across the waters of the
strait, which were glittering brightly in the sun, they saw approaching
a fleet of war canoes.  The vessels, over a dozen in number, were
crowded from bow to stern with warriors and oarsmen while, in the
bottom of each, reposed women and children who acted as ballast.

A stiff surf was running but it served to give the Indians an
opportunity to display their skill as they approached the shore.  For a
space they rowed as if they were a unit, silently, without causing a
ripple to denote where their paddles had cleft the surface of the
water, then, with a piercing yell, the oars were plunged deep into the
waves and the canoes, lifted as if by invisible hands beneath them,
bounded forward through a swirl of creamy foam.  Then again, chanting
in rhythm to their movements, the warriors swept shoreward slowly and
majestically as great sea-eagles might drop towards their rocky aeries
above the waves.  As they beached the canoes, their paddles were raised
triumphantly in serried rows above their heads.

That they were friends, Haidas from some neighbouring community, was
apparent because of the shouts of welcome which hailed them from the
assembled crowd upon the shore.  Se-an and the Englishman made haste
through the belt of scrubby fir trees separating them from the scene
and joined the procession making its way to the council chamber of
Tik-atl.

The shaman's lodge stood upon an eminence to the east of the other
houses and, like all the others in the little town, was constructed of
great timbers of split red cedar bound together by means of upright
poles and rope fastenings.  The front of the dwelling had a width of
fully fifty feet, its roof sloping almost imperceptibly to the rear for
a distance of over one hundred and fifty feet.  Towering in the centre
of the front wall was a gigantic totem pole, through the base of which
was cut an oval doorway leading to the interior of the building.

The throng, consisting of the visitors in full war-paint and finery,
the sub-chiefs and the braves of the village in their ceremonial robes,
and the young people and women, was crowding through the narrow
entrance.  With them went Master Anson without exciting attention from
the Indians.  Entering, he found himself upon a platform about eight
feet in width which extended along the four sides of the immense hall.
Below, like successive steps leading to the bare earth of the floor,
there were three other similar terraces.  Hewn logs of the cedar
supported the roof and were in turn held in place by gigantic columns
carved from the trunks of the great native trees of the island which
had been converted into the semblance of the heraldic animals of the
Raven clan.  In the centre of the lodge, fires of fir logs were
blazing.  These obscured the air with haze owing to the fact that no
outlet was provided for the wood-smoke except through openings in the
roof.  If untouched, the fumes from the flames would have been fragrant
but, to add to their intensity, slaves stood about with troughs filled
with seal-oil and oolachan grease which they poured at intervals upon
the wood.  Thus acrid and stifling odours were added to the heat of the
summer day and the vapours from the perspiring assembly of natives.
With an effort Richard suppressed a desire to escape into the open air.

Upon the upper tier at the end of the room was seated Tik-atl, while
below him, in order of rank, were ranged the members of his family.
The chief, who was also a shaman, was arrayed in a magnificently
embroidered and fringed dancing-robe.  Over his brows rose the carved
crests of his clan and, depending from this cap, were ermine skins so
arranged as to fall in a shower over his shoulders and back.  When the
visitors had all been assigned to seats, at a motion made by Tik-atl
there arose the throbbing of deerskin drums and the weird accompanying
chant of the musicians who sat upon the lower platforms.  This was the
signal for the commencement of the ceremonies.

Rising, the warriors of the village moved into the centre of the arena
and, advancing to each guest in turn, bowed gracefully before breaking
into a slow, rhythmical dance movement, weaving through and about the
visiting Haidas.  As the dancers moved they shook from the hollow
crowns of their headgear showers of snow-white down of the swan and
eagle.  These feathery clouds, floating in the air, finally descended
upon the guests and thereby sealed their welcome according to the
ancient rite.  Feasting followed in which, upon trenchers inlaid with
mother-of-pearl, offerings were tendered of dried halibut and salmon in
oolachan grease, boiled seaweed and the foaming froth of the soapberry.
Although the Englishman was mightily fascinated by the strangeness of
it all, the thickening smell of perspiration, smoke and food proved too
much for him.  Seizing an opportune moment, he slipped out through the
great doorway.

He paused a moment to look at the beauty of the scene before him.  The
Haida village lay in the curve of a bay whose wooded shores reached
down to a white shingle upon which the evening shadows were now
gathering.  Behind him the sun had disappeared over the tree-tops, so
that only the waves off-shore reflected the opalescent hues refracted
through the mists clinging to the hills.  The great forest aisles were
shaded now--dim halls of dream broidered by the ghostly tapestry of
Spanish moss and whispering lace of cypress and fir.

He turned his steps towards the woods.  Without warning, a great
loneliness had descended upon him.  Was it home-sickness or the more
immediate desire for sight of a beloved face?  He did not know.

Anson was not so entirely sure of the wisdom of his adventure among the
Haidas as he had been upon the occasion when he accepted the shaman's
offer to lead him to a knowledge of the Indian mysteries.  During the
long months in the Salish capital, he had been under the strain of a
forced separation from Auria which had finally driven him to a
desperate resolve.  As he strode quickly through the spaces between the
great trees, brushing aside the growth of bracken and vine which
impeded his way, his mind reverted to a memory of the night when the
_San Rafael_ had been wrecked.  He had come very near, in those tragic
moments, to winning the prize upon which his heart had been set.  A hot
flush suffused his face as he remembered how her more spiritual nature
had mistaken the sensual motives in him to be entirely noble and
heroic.  Then, during the succeeding days, when the Salish had taken
her to themselves and had hailed her as deliverer and messenger of
light, the shadows had fallen.  The barrier of her secret vow of
renunciation had arisen across his pathway once more.  He could
remember her wavering.  "These are my people.  I am pledged to them by
ties I cannot set aside.  They are my children, yet..."  Again his
heart was wrung by the agony felt when he had pleaded for his love.  If
only once he could have set her feet in human ways!  On good English
soil that would have been possible.  She had never known the sweet uses
of earth, the glory of human life.  Now, in his absence, what
misfortunes of war or accident might threaten her?  Could he win
through to a knowledge of her world and the powers to whom she gave her
allegiance?  Yes, he would meet her in her own kingdom since she would
not enter his.

Among the interlaced branches of the trees above him were stealing the
colours of one of the marvellous sunsets for which this Coast region is
noted.  As through the windows of some old Gothic cathedral, rose-gold
and orange and saffron, the subdued light was falling until submerged
in the green gloom of the tangled vine-maple thickets.  There was a
strange silence befitting the majesty of the giant trees and the dim
corridors between them.  It was an atmosphere in which high dreams are
born and the wine of romance flushes cheek and fills burning veins.
Here, indeed, Sir Galahad might have recorded a vow upon his jewelled
sword-hilt, or Arthur have gone, with heart singing, to his last great
battle by the sea.

Knowing that darkness came quickly in the depths of the forest, Master
Richard turned his steps towards the sea-shore and its open spaces.
Soon, having broken through an opposing barrier of leafy underbrush, he
stood upon the rim of a clay bank that sloped to the level of the beach.

Here the man paused abruptly and partially withdrew into the shelter of
the surrounding shrubbery.  A canoe was landing upon the gravelly
shingle within a few yards of him.  With a grating noise, the craft
came to rest and its occupant, springing lightly from her place, stood
erect upon the sand.  In the soft afterglow of the sunset Anson saw a
girl, a native as evidenced by her colour and dress, whose striking
beauty distinguished her from any of the Haidas he had heretofore
looked upon.  About her supple form, rounded into the full curve of
mature womanhood, was draped a red-brown robe of some woollen material
which left bare her arms and displayed a modest measure of shapely
limbs.  Both ankles and wrists were adorned with silver bracelets, but
her dark hair, luxurious in its abundance, was without ornament.  Nor
did it need additions to its charm.  It was not of exceeding fineness
but, unlike that of most Indians, was wavy and of a quantity sufficient
to clothe her shoulders and bosom completely.  Anson watched her
intently, with admiration stirring in him, as she made fast her little
bark.  Suddenly a dry branch beneath his foot broke with a snap.
Startled, the girl sprang into the canoe and stood facing him, paddle
ready to propel her into deeper water.

Richard stepped from his place of concealment and called to her in the
Salish tongue:

"Do not be afraid.  I am a friend."

Her eyes searched him.  She was like a deer, ready to bound away at the
slightest unwary movement.  To the man's surprise she answered him in
the only native tongue which he knew:

"Who are you?"

"If you are a Haida you will know of the white chief who is staying in
the lodges of Tik-atl."  As he spoke Richard smiled in a friendly
manner.

The girl relaxed her firm grip upon the paddle.

"Yes, I have heard of the white chief.  I have been away in another
village.  Tik-atl is my father."

If she had quietly announced that she was the daughter of Satan it
would not have more thoroughly astonished the Englishman.  The evil
face of the medicine man, scarred by ambition and hatred, seemed
something apart from this wild beauty which confronted him.

"Tik-atl is your father?  You speak the Salish tongue?  Where...?"

"I learned it from a slave.  It is a slave's tongue.  Has the paleface
no words of his own?  He was not born of a Salish mother."

"The Haida would not understand my language, but I am in no way
different from your people, although the Great Spirit has made my face
white."  Anson continued gently in the hope of winning her confidence,
"I am here because your father said, 'Come!'  I am not an enemy.  I
would learn more of your people who are great and very brave."

She still remained in the canoe while her dark eyes slowly appraised
him.  Wonder and fear were evident in her glance although her voice
betrayed no hint of either.  In his imagination Anson was still finding
it hard to connect her with Tik-atl.  Innocence and guile, light and
darkness are not easily recognised as opposite poles of the same
humanity.  Her voice was rich in tone, deep and mellow, but yet
exquisitely feminine.  There were depths in it as alluring as the
shadows in an amber pool.  It suggested unbelievable warmth and
tenderness, as well as strength to overcome and endure.  He was glad
when she spoke again, this time calmly and with less restraint.

"Keet-sa-o knows no fear.  The paleface has a beautiful voice and his
eyes are like a sky without clouds.  Why has he wandered far from the
lodges?"

"To be alone with his thoughts and the trees and the winds and the
sunset.  These things have tongues for him and he loves to listen to
them."

A swift look, entirely sympathetic, greeted Richard's speech.

"They have voices for those who have ears.  If you have heard them, you
cannot have evil in your heart nor the black magic that kills.
Keet-sa-o came here to speak with them before going back to the lodge
of her father.  The shadows are growing long.  Will you go with her?"

Gladly the man permitted himself to be seated upon the one thwart of
the canoe while the girl took her seat at the stern.  As they glided
out into the waters shimmering with sunset hues, he learned that she
had been at another Haida village taking care of her brother who had
been wounded in a recent hunting expedition.  She had heard of Anson's
arrival and confessed that curiosity had hastened her return to her
father's community.  Then, without warning, the maiden fell strangely
silent, answering only in monosyllables.  The man was used to the
taciturnity of the Indian nature and realised that, for their first
meeting, she had spoken with an abandon quite out of the ordinary.  He
was in truth amazed to be so readily admitted to her friendship.  In
her own good time she would talk again.

The canoe was being noiselessly propelled upon the surface of waters
aglow with beauty.  Delicate and fleeting tints and colourings just
below the waves were veils through which the dark green shadows of the
wooded shores could be seen in the depths below them.  Mists,
soft-footed and white, were stealing upwards through the forest
clothing the hillsides, while, upon the summits, the conical tops of
fir and cedar were silhouetted against the sky.  A faint, chill wind
was blown to them from where hidden waterfalls, in dim ravines, stirred
the air to sudden motion.  The soft thunder of these falling streams
and the wash of the ripple caressing the sands of the beach alone broke
the silence.  It was as though the memory of a glorious dream still
trailed its broken light and fleeting perfume over sea and sky, leaving
an intangible feeling of pain because the day had vanished.

Rounding a headland they came into sight of the Haida village.  The war
canoes clustered upon the landing and the echoes of drums and chanting
from the great lodge of Tik-atl proclaimed the fact that the
festivities were still in progress.  The spaces between the houses,
which could hardly be dignified by the name of streets, were empty,
showing that the entire population was attendant upon the ceremonies.

"We will wait," said Keet-sa-o.  "Soon the darkness will come."

In answer to his inquiry the girl would give no reasons for her delay.
Not a little annoyed but helpless in the matter, Anson had, perforce,
to accede to her wishes.  They drifted a few rods off-shore where a
tiny projecting cliff hid them from sight of the village.  The girl was
still silent, refusing to respond to the man's friendly attempts to
draw her into conversation.  With the darkness came a fog.  This seemed
to be to the girl's liking.  She rapidly drove the canoe forwards and
in a few minutes they beached at a spot some distance from the regular
landing.

While Anson and his companion worked to pull the boat above high-water
mark, they were entirely enveloped in the thick mist which was almost
rain.  Chilled by sitting in the canoe, the man was glad of the chance
to exercise himself and left but little for Keet-sa-o to do.  The canoe
being made fast, they had turned towards the village when they were
halted by a harsh voice.  From the enclosing wall of the fog, the tall
figure of Tik-atl emerged and stood beside them.

Still clothed in his ceremonial robes, the gigantic shaman loomed large
in the grey shadows--a fantastic but sinister form.  Anson could feel
the trembling of the girl at his side.  He was also aware of a hand
that touched and held his own.  The Englishman did not fear the
magician, having been on the most friendly terms with him during the
voyage to the North and in the days which followed.

"I had wandered into the forest alone, O Mighty One.  By a strange
chance I have met the girl, your daughter.  We are on our way to your
lodge."

Tik-atl reached forward, seized Keet-sa-o by the wrist and pulled her
violently to his side.  His vice-like grip held her while she winced
from the agony of it.

"It is now many moons since I permitted her to visit the lodge of my
son.  No word has come from her--no reason for her delay."  He bent
over the cowering girl, his words hissing through clenched teeth.
"Ugh!" He pushed her away from him.  "Why did the Great Spirit send me
a woman?  I needed men--only warriors and men!"

Richard felt his anger rising.

"Indeed, she has spoken but good words of you.  This cruelty is surely
uncalled for.  I will pledge myself that the girl has done no great
wrong."

"The paleface speaks without wisdom," snarled the shaman.  "He came to
be taught--not to teach."

Anson found himself in an exceedingly awkward position.  He knew
nothing of the girl who had clung to him for protection.  The fact that
she had done so, however, influenced him.  He spoke stubbornly.

"I have said that I will pledge myself that she has done no wrong."

"Tik-atl knows and his will is law.  To-night she may sleep.  At
sunrise, she shall be whipped like the ungrateful dog which does not
know its master."

"I say that she shall not be whipped--not while I have a sword in my
hand!"

The Englishman's defiance was flung recklessly, his temper having
mastered him.  The shaman's answer was a derisive laugh.  He shoved the
girl forcibly towards Anson who stood with his hand upon his sword-hilt
awaiting the effect of his temerity.

"The white chief speaks brave words, but they are the words of a fool.
We will not break peace over a squaw.  There are other things to be
done."

Without further speech the magician folded his robes about him and
strode away.

Not yet able to fathom the wiles or subtlety of the Indian mind, Master
Anson was only indignant and sorely at a loss as to what should be
done.  In his own opinion he had most unfortunately fallen foul of the
domestic affairs of his host.  That he was the victim of a darker
wisdom than his own never entered his mind.  At this moment he was
occupied by his pity for the girl whose beauty had appealed to him, and
who seemed to him to be the victim of parental tyranny.

"Keet-sa-o, I will go with you to your door.  Lead along, girl.  You
know the way."

"I cannot go to my father's house," replied the maiden.  "I will go to
my brother's lodge which has stood empty since he went away.  I do not
know why my father is angry.  His heart may change during the night."

Again the girl relapsed into a stubborn silence while she led the man
through the village.  At the door of her lodge he bade her good night.
In a bewildered state of mind, half-regretful that he had angered the
shaman who had promised him the key that his heart desired, Anson
sought his quarters and retired to rest.




CHAPTER XIV

HUNTING THE SEA OTTER

"Se-an, the wood-splitter, walks like a stuffed crow.  May Nee-kwun
smash his work into firewood!"

A wrinkled old hag weaving a basket in the shade of her house spat out
the words through toothless gums as the Maker of Canoes strutted
proudly past her on his way to the landing below the village.  There,
upon the sloping beach, lay the great fleet of the Haidas in course of
preparation for the otter-hunting.  Age, which is envious of the
exuberance of youth, will sometimes become bitter and warped by a blind
hatred.  An inferiority-complex is thus given relief.  Se-an passed on
oblivious of the venom cast in his direction.  Mumbling and mouthing,
the old crone rocked herself to and fro above her plaited reeds.
Presently her attention was arrested by the sound of voices approaching
along the path taken by the artificer.  The woman shifted herself and
the baskets so that she was hidden by some half-dressed deerskins
hanging from the eaves above her.  She recognised the voice of the
magician, Tik-atl.

"They must go in the same canoe.  Let it be with Se-an.  The paleface
has watched while Se-an worked and the fellow is proud that his skill
has been seen and admired by the stranger."

The shaman was answered by a grunt from his henchman, the Snake.

"The blood of the white man is cold."

"He is strong," replied the magician, "but we will tie him hand and
heart.  The white priestess, lacking him, will have only the Salish
sheep.  At the full of the moon we will go south."

Their voices died away as they passed along the wide, crooked lane
between the lodges.  The squaw, stooping forward, traced several
indistinct figures in the dust at her feet.

"May the Great Raven save me--save me," she muttered, "from the evil of
his eye!  He is the king of the wolves who tear open our graves and
devour the dead."

Meanwhile, among the canoes there was laughter and the joy of life.
The daring of the warriors was to be tested by the adventure before
them.  Hearts beat proudly and happily, while the brown maidens, even
as their white sisters of romantic story, vied with each other in
bestowing favours upon their champions.  Not all who went in search of
the wily sea otter, braving the dangers of the rocky headlands and the
treacherous reefs where death lay in wait for the unwary, could hope to
return.  Those who bore home the glossy pelts won them at a cost as
great as ever had been paid by a warrior in battle.

Master Anson was in the midst of the chattering throng while he
assisted Se-an to fill his canoe with the necessary provisions and
implements of the chase.  A chubby baby of four, who looked like a
bronze cherub torn from some niche in an old church, manfully did his
best to help by tugging at the cedar-bark ropes and matting which lay
upon the sands.  Richard won a broad smile from Se-an by pretending to
take seriously the efforts of the little chap.  Soon, however, the play
threatened to interfere with work.  When the man placed an article in
the canoe it was promptly seized by the little fellow who deposited it
forthwith upon the pile from which it had been taken.  Anson, awkward
as most men are with children, was embarrassed.  Se-an was too busy to
interfere.  To the Englishman's relief, Keet-sa-o hurried towards him
from a group of young women near by.  She took the chubby one into her
arms.

"Keet-sa-o is coming with you--in your canoe," she said.  Anson was
pleased and let his voice tell her that was so.

"Indeed, I am very glad.  I cannot speak the Haida tongue.  It was good
of your father to let me go with the canoes.  I want to learn all that
I can while I am your guest."

He continued his task of loading the canoe with boxes of dried fish,
herring spawn and dried cakes of seaweed.  Se-an meanwhile had stowed
the bows and arrows, and blankets or mats for shelter and warmth.
Presently all preparations were completed.  The fleet was ready to sail.

The Englishman observed that the canoes used for hunting were not the
ocean-going craft but smaller vessels each fitted, as in the case of
the larger boats, with two sails.  When the wind was favourable the
fleet could skim over the waters with amazing speed.  Lacking a breeze,
the paddles were used.  In almost every instance the crew consisted of
three men, one in the bow, one in the middle of the canoe and one, who
steered, at the stern.

With some astonishment Anson watched the ceremony of drinking sea-water
in which the braves participated before finally launching their boats.
It was an ancient custom which was supposed to instil courage and to
confirm the mastery of the waves which was the birthright of the
Northern tribes.  This done, the canoes were pushed out upon the sea by
slaves who waded waist-deep in the surf.  Fifty strong, Chief Tik-atl's
squadron spread snowy wings and glided out over the dancing waters of
the strait.

Richard, who occupied the thwart in the centre of Se-an's vessel, was
for the moment relieved of work.  The artisan sat in the rear,
occasionally using his paddle to control the direction of the canoe.
The man, stripped to the waist, presented a superb picture of Indian
manhood which was somewhat marred, however, by the elaborate symbols
tattooed upon his brawny chest.  The Haida's face was stolid, but his
heart sang with pride as he displayed his skill before the pale-face
chief.  Gradually they gained the lead and, without apparent effort, it
was maintained.

Before them, like white clouds along the horizon, lay the snow-capped
peaks of a great range of mountains.  The sky was clear; no mists were
to be seen anywhere upon the surface of the sea.  All was sparkling
sunshine which was reflected with dazzling brilliance from the surface
of the waves.  It was a day when it was good to be alive, and life
called to Master Richard as he saw Keet-sa-o framed by the beauty of
sea and sky.  She sat facing him in the bow of the canoe, her luxurious
hair tossed about a face that would have brought joy to an artist's
heart.  It was not beautiful after the English manner, but the features
were regular and noble, without disfigurement by any of the savage
ornaments affected by the Coast people.  Her eyes, thought Richard, are
like her voice--soft and deep, tuned to tears or laughter.  He could
see in them nothing of the cruelty or craftiness of her kinsmen.  Now
they were merry, shining with happiness, for was she not spared the
present sight of her father's angry face, so unlike the kindly
countenance of the white chief?  Like a little child she rejoiced in
immunity from pain, even although she knew that the near future held it
inevitably.

Anson now noted that the fleet was separating into divisions.  In
groups of three or four, the canoes commenced to diverge in varying
directions.  Soon, with Se-an in the lead, three of the vessels turned
westward parallel with the island which they had left behind them.  For
several hours more they kept well out to sea, then, as the shore-line
became more rugged, bordered by cliffs and marked by rocky headlands,
they changed their course and skirted the coast more closely.  Hours
passed, but no sign of their quarry was discovered.  Then, before the
sun had reached its highest point in the southern sky, the various
crews headed towards the land and beached their little fleet in a cove
where a stream of fresh water could be seen falling from the ledges of
a great rock.  Here they cooked a meal from the meat of a fur-seal
which had been shot by one of the men.  No delay was permitted after
the repast.  The fires were extinguished and the hunt resumed.

Presently patience met its reward.  An oarsman in one of the leading
boats shouted and then stood erect while he pointed with his paddle.
The canoes all circled about the spot indicated by the huntsman.  A few
moments later there appeared above the surface of the water the shining
black head of an otter, and Anson heard the twang of a bowstring behind
him as Se-an launched an arrow.  His aim was good for the animal
instantly plunged forward, disappearing amid a flurry of blood-flecked
foam.  Presently the commotion of the water ceased and the prize
floated upon the surface.

Richard exclaimed aloud in admiration when it was hauled aboard.  The
glossy black fur, tipped here and there with a suggestion of silver,
was of wondrous texture and beauty.  He listened with interest while
Keet-sa-o told him of the habits of these graceful creatures.  The
harshness of her Indian tongue was softened as she spoke wonderingly of
having seen a mother otter sleeping peacefully, her little ones cuddled
upon her breast, upon the waves many miles from the nearest land.

Following the first catch, several more otters were taken in a similar
manner, and so engrossed were the hunters in their sport that they
failed to note a sudden stiffening of the breeze which had veered to
the south-west.  The rim of a dark cloud-bank had appeared above the
summit of the hills and although the brilliant sunshine still
prevailed, the surface of the sound was broken by crinkling lines of
grey and blue.  The canoes rocked uneasily and those steering headed
their craft to windward.  Presently a boisterous gust of wind threw the
waves into a turmoil of foaming crests.

An exclamation of alarm from Se-an roused the Englishman.  He turned
but, even as he did so, he felt a paddle thrust into his hand by
Keet-sa-o.  As he watched her trying to regain her seat in the bow, he
noted that she, too, held an oar.  Above the wind, he heard her cry:

"For the shore!  Work!  Fast!  Fast!"

Their canoe was facing the rollers which threatened to submerge them.
With the blinding spray lashing his face, Master Anson laid to with all
of his strength.  Keet-sa-o was forced to give over paddling.  The
might of desperation was hers as, with face set and pale, she clung to
the gunwale while she tried to bale the sea-water from the waist of the
vessel.  A quick rush of rain shut out sight of the rest of the fleet.

Alone, now upon the peak of a sliding mountain, now in a watery trough
that hissed under them like a coil of grey serpents, they battled for
life with a relentless foe.  That they were nearing shore was evidenced
by the flying knots and wisps of seaweed which whipped them in the
driving sheets of rain.  Then, in their ears like intermittent thunder,
there sounded the pounding of the breakers upon the rocks fringing the
low-lying cliffs.

It was useless to struggle further, for they were lifted like the
lightest driftwood and crashed into the jaws of the harassed reef.  In
some manner, never afterwards clear to him, Anson seized Keet-sa-o as
she was swept onward with him.  Partially stunned and lacerated by his
first impact upon the rocks, he was sucked back only to be cast ahead
once more.  This time, by a miracle, they were carried safely past the
first barrier and found themselves being floated forward into a
shelving, cave-like aperture in the cliff.  Up into an interior, black
and vast, the cavern rose from its floor which was a declivity cruelly
fanged with barnacled and slippery projections.  These, however, proved
to be their salvation for, clinging to them, Richard managed to drag
the girl and himself beyond reach of the billows.

Time was not reckoned as they lay there in the darkness, aware chiefly
of their bruised and shivering flesh.  Keet-sa-o was hysterical from
terror.  As each successive wave swirled up as if to clutch them in its
embrace, she cried aloud and clung closely to the man, her arms about
his neck, the drenched tangle of her hair wet upon his breast.  After a
time she grew quieter, and drawing away from him, in the succeeding
hour was so silent that the man wondered if she were sleeping.

Then he felt her hand stretched to touch his face in the darkness.  She
caressed his cheeks with her fingertips and, so chilled was his own
blood, that her hand seemed warm to him.

"Keet-sa-o is sorry.  The Storm Spirit drove away her courage.  She
will not be a squaw now--not any more."

Richard drew her to him and made her rest her head upon his shoulder.
The girl curled her supple body closely together for greater warmth and
very soon her breathing told him that she was really sleeping.  Her
unusual physical strength had been taxed beyond its limit of endurance.
Knowing that they were beyond the power of the storm to reach them, he
allowed his own utter weariness to overcome his desire to remain awake
and upon guard.

When Master Anson opened his eyes the dim light of his surroundings
bewildered him.  Then memory asserted itself.  Below him he saw a strip
of light and, to his delight, the bare, wet sand of the beach.  In the
aperture, between the light and the darkness, Keet-sa-o appeared.  She
could not see him and began to climb the sloping floor of the cave, but
he called down to her:

"All right!  I am coming!"

Stiffened and sore, he had some difficulty in making the descent.
When, with eyes dazzled by the sudden sunshine, he stood without the
entrance to the cave, in his devout English heart there was a prayer of
thanksgiving for their deliverance.  The tide had receded, leaving a
strip of pebbled shore between them and the rocks which had been the
cause of their disaster.

"The canoe is safe.  I have seen it with my own eyes.  Come!"

A nymph from the waves she appeared to him as she seized his hand in
her eagerness to drag him to the scene of their undoing.  As though she
had just completed her morning toilet, her cheeks were glowing, dark
red beneath the amber of her skin.  Her clothing had been partially
dried by the sun, but about her shoulders her hair hung heavily as a
dark curtain embroidered by the strands and wisps of seaweed
intermingled with it.  Altogether she was a bit of the wild, rugged
loveliness of this desert place.  Anson was nothing loath to follow
this maid of the sea as she picked her way carefully over the rough
stones.

"It is between two rocks.  I cannot move it.  Maybe together we can
shift it."

There was no hint of tragedy in her manner.  The fate of the other
canoes or of Se-an was not, apparently, weighing upon her.

They found the boat, as she had described it, wedged in a peculiar way
into the barnacled cleft of a gigantic boulder that stood glistening
and dripping in the morning sunshine.  Brown ropes of kelp and a tangle
of grey-green weeds together with a considerable quantity of water
stood in the bottom of the little vessel.  Anson examined the situation
carefully and then tugged at the canoe in an attempt to dislodge it.
In the process his hands were skinned and scratched by the sharp mussel
shells which clung thickly in patches upon the face of the stone.

He decided that they would need bars with which to pry it from its
present position.  More quickly than he could have done it, Keet-sa-o
dragged up stout branches of polished fir-wood and slabs of drift.
Together they exercised all of their mechanical skill.  Her strength
seemed equal to his own, her ingenuity more apparent.  At last, torn
and battered, the canoe lay upon the beach.  Without repairs it was
useless.  However, that lack was no great obstacle.  Richard believed
that, with very little effort, he could make the craft seaworthy once
more.  In the meantime he was exhausted, but, seeing the tide had
turned, they dragged it over the shingle to the mouth of a creek which
came tumbling through a rocky defile near by.  It would be better to
leave the boat in the water than to permit the sun to open the seams
which might be, at present, invisible.

Upon the cool moss on the bank of the stream Master Anson stretched
himself to rest.  Keet-sa-o wandered away and returned presently with a
handful of clams and large mussels.  These, with the tang of the salt
water still upon them, the man found most refreshing.

Beside him as he ate, Keet-sa-o stood happily.  Leaning against a huge
boulder, she was lowering her bare feet, one at a time, into the stream
to wash away the sand of the beach.  Anson found her good to look upon.
He was amused, momentarily, by the thought of one of his countrywomen
under similar circumstances.  How helpless, in the wilderness, would
have appeared one of the fine ladies of Elizabeth's Court!

"Keet-sa-o, do you think that any of the other men may have been
spared?  We must look presently.  They may have gone ashore somewhere
near."

The girl looked at him indifferently while she waved a hand to dismiss
the matter.

"All gone, I think."

"If we cannot repair the boat, what shall we do?" continued Anson.

Keet-sa-o contemplated her toes for a space.  Her eyes sought his from
among her black tresses, then, suddenly, she was intent upon her toes
once more.

"I do not know.  Maybe we will stay here.  Maybe We will go.  I do not
know."

"Oh!..."  Anson had no intention of remaining upon a barren shore one
moment longer than was necessary.  "The good Lord who, in His mercy,
delivered us will doubtless provide further means for our escape," he
said.  "This you do not understand?  It may be, however, that your
people, even as the Salish, believe in the Great Spirit?"

"Yes," replied the girl, "I do understand.  The Great Spirit, Tahit,
will care for His children, but there are some who are not His.  My
father is stronger than the gods who work for good.  He knows now that
we are here and will send for us.  If we stay here he will find us."

Anson was instantly curious.  "You mean that your father is an enemy of
the Great Spirit?"

"He knows what the Great Spirit knows," said Keet-sa-o, "and what the
Spirits of the Wind and the Sea know.  It is dangerous to know that."

Quite certain in his own mind that all superhuman knowledge was fraught
with peril, the man turned to problems closer to hand.

"You have no doubt, girl, that your father will find us?"

"He will," repeated Keet-sa-o, nor did Anson understand why she quickly
flung away from him, rushing down to the water's edge where she sat
with her back turned to him, while she gazed out over the straits at
the white mountains beyond.

As the sun rose its warmth swept the last vestige of moisture from
grass and fern, so that, on a bed of delicious comfort, Anson reposed
beside the stream while he recovered from the strain of the preceding
hours.  Through the brocade of the bracken above his head the sunlight
filtered like golden wine.  The hum of insect life sounded in his ears
more loudly than the surf upon the sands near by.  He was drifting into
a dream where everything was radiant whether of sight or sound, since
all sensations seemed here to be commingled and merged into one
another.  Through it all the face of Auria shone clearly outlined
against the chaotic background of his thoughts, a star steadily shining
through the wavering mists.  He fell asleep.

The sun dipped downward until it touched a headland to westward of
their haven and still Master Anson lay in deep slumber.  As the shadows
gathered, the Haida maiden made a pile of driftwood beyond the reach of
the tide.  Having heaped it high, she bent to the task of making fire
by the primitive method of whirling between her hands a pointed stick
inserted into a depression in the surface of a piece of dry wood.
After much labour a spark smouldered in the light dust about the end of
the twig and, by further careful manipulation, a flame was obtained.
When her beacon was well alight she sat in the warmth of it, her arms
clasping her knees as she gazed into the depths where the brine-soaked
wood glowed in coruscating shades of gold and blue and green.

In her wild, pagan heart there was abounding pain.  It was the primal
hurt which the first Lilith knew when she saw that Adam thought not of
her but of another.  In the Haida encampments she had heard much talk
of the white priestess of the Salish.  She could hear again the words
of Tsa-lan, the young brave who had come home to die: "Her eyes are
made of the sky.  Her white body glistens like that of a Tyee salmon
caught in the golden net of the Sun-god.  Her voice is the singing of
many waters."  At that moment Keet-sa-o's dark hair, her eyes that were
black as the shadows in the ravines, were hateful to her.  Kindness she
had never known.  Friends of her own sex she had been denied because
she was the daughter of the dreaded Tik-atl.  Her heart had gone out,
in her loneliness, to the white chief whose voice was like soft rain
upon the leaves, and whose arm had been strong to defend her.  She knew
the tradition of her tribe--that she was the property of the man who
had laid his hand familiarly upon her.  According to her faith she
believed that Richard had been sealed as her master by the Storm Spirit
who had placed his arms about her.  The waves on the shingle near her,
the wind that stole, silent and chill, from among the whispering firs,
seemed weighted by the sorrow which she firmly repressed within her
bosom.

Her ear, trained to detect all sounds which broke the silence of
nature, heard the far-off dip of paddles.  Swiftly Keet-sa-o rose and
hastened to the spot where the man lay sleeping.  All a-tremble now,
she shook him violently so that he sprang to his feet in alarm.

"Quickly--they are coming!  It is my father.  You will tell him?" she
cried.

Anson, only half-awakened, stared stupidly at the girl.  Her eyes were
imploring.  Her eager, passionate face illumined by the firelight, she
stood erect--waiting, with her hands clasped submissively before her.

"Then," said Anson slowly, "we are saved.  Thanks be to the Giver of
all good!"

While he was speaking the shaman's canoe grounded upon the shore.




CHAPTER XV

TOTEMS

"The white chief must have patience.  He cannot command the stars.
When they speak, he will be led into the knowledge which he seeks."

Tik-atl spoke oratorically with intent to drive home his decision as
final.  Before him stood Master Anson, inwardly fuming but striving to
preserve a calm demeanour.  Other English virtues of dogged courage and
bluff honesty he possessed, but in patience he was sadly lacking.  Over
a fortnight, filled with moving events, had passed since he had landed
in the Haida village.  The shaman had made no mention of his initiation
into the Indian faith or its mysteries.  Anson had restrained his
desire as long as it was possible for him to do so, and had finally
broached the matter, demanding that the magician's promise be fulfilled.

"Is it given, then, to know when the stars will permit me to share your
wisdom?" said he.

Tik-atl smiled condescendingly.  They were standing before the white
man's lodge which commanded a view of the whole village and the
adjacent shore.  Totem poles, so thickly set that they looked from a
distance like the seared snags of a burned-over forest tract, broke
their view of the sea beyond.  The magician waved his hand towards the
horizon.

"From far and near they will come, the children of the Bear and the
Eagle and the Raven--yes, and others less great will come.  It is the
moon of totems and there will be much feasting.  There will be a giving
of gifts so rich and so many in number that the Haidas will tell the
story to their children's children.  Then, when all are engaged in the
ceremonies, you will be led into the silent places.  There, alone, in
the moonless night after you have fasted and watched, you will meet
face to face the spirit of your kind.  When I know the will of Tahit
and where your feet stand on the ladder of lives, little and great, I
can give you the key to the mysteries of earth and sea and air."

The shaman folded his arms within his robe and prepared to depart.  His
glance said, "I have spoken."  Anson saw that further inquiries would
elicit no response.

He was silent as Tik-atl moved away towards the lodges, then, wearily,
he turned towards the doorway of his own dwelling.  Time dragged
heavily on his hands for he was but little interested in the savages
with whom he was a guest.  The novelty of the first days having gone,
his thoughts were all of the South and his heart's desire.  He
shuddered with disgust as a landward breeze brought to him the
sickening stench of the Haida encampment.  By day his eyes were
revolted by the sight of decaying corpses and the grim fragments of the
dead which littered the vicinity of the houses, for these people,
unlike other Coast Indians, did not bury their dead.  Even the bodies
of their great men, their chiefs and shamans, were retained close to
the homes of the living, placed in painted and carven boxes set between
upright pillars or enclosed in the hollow bases of mortuary totem
poles.  This barbarous custom made it less easy for his mind to do
justice to the nobler qualities of his hosts.

Entering his lodge he was therefore disagreeably moved by the sight of
an ancient crone who sat calmly enjoying the warmth of his fire.  There
was scarcely an hour of the day when he was not honoured by parties of
the Indians who came to sit about his hearth while they discussed, in
their own tongue, the strange appearance and habits of the paleface.
The present guest, however, exceeded in ugliness and filth any he had
seen heretofore.  Her wrinkled face and rheumy eyes were rendered more
hideous by a nose ring and the horrible decoration of a labret.  This
latter, a carved wooden wedge inserted into a broad slit below the
lower lip, was enough to banish beauty from the loveliest face.  In the
case of the old squaw it was inexpressibly revolting.  The woman,
crouching by the open fire, was almost entirely enveloped in a dingy
blanket which she drew tightly over her withered breast.  She grinned
up at the man who stood, loath to come nearer to her.  Anson watched
curiously as she reached into the folds of her robe and drew forth a
buckskin bag beautifully embroidered with the crest of the Raven.
This, in her shaking, claw-like hand, she extended towards him.

He instantly recognised it as part of the shaman's equipment--the
receptacle for his charms and amulets.  He had seen it suspended from
Tik-atl's waist.  As he took it into his hands, the crone wagged her
head vigorously and mumbled unintelligible things--curses they might
have been, or warnings--Anson was at a loss to know their intent.  When
he attempted to return it to her she pushed it back into his hands.
Pointing in the direction which Tik-atl had taken in leaving, she shook
her fist violently, then pointed to the sack and to Master Anson.  It
was evidently her desire that he should keep the bag.  Complying, the
man placed it in his bosom.  The squaw clapped her hands in approval
and rising, with much difficulty, she made her way to the door,
chuckling as she did so with some inner glee that possessed her.  Her
shrill cackle came back to him more faintly while she was hobbling off
towards the village.

Richard decided to retain the article, but dismissed the incident from
his mind as he went about the preparation of his evening meal.  He was
moving among strangers in an unknown land and could act only with
incomplete knowledge.  Much had to be left to chance and to the
Providence in which his early trust had been placed.  He slept but
poorly that night.  His visions were disconcerting.  Over them all, the
evil face of the magician flitted like a threatening cloud.

Several mornings later, the Englishman was awakened by the throbbing of
drums and the noise of trumpets and shouting.  He had scarcely
completed dressing when Keet-sa-o's voice called to him from without:

"Come!  Come and look!"

He was not a little surprised by her summons, for she had avoided him
during the days following their rescue.  Emerging into the brilliant
sunshine, he found her awaiting him with a smile of welcome.  She
laughed as he held his hand before his eyes.

"You are sleepy.  Like a bear, you would snore until the spring!"

Anson shared her merriment before his whole attention was absorbed by
the scene before him.  From what is now known on maps as Alaska, from
Prince of Wales Island, from Skidegate and the islands to the south,
from all the sea-beaten coasts which owned the sway of the Haidas,
canoes dotted the strait, bearing in to the lodges of Tik-atl guests
for the feast of totems.  The blue waters seemed to cast them up as
bright bits of driftwood flashing in the sunshine.  The vibrations of
their drums and wild chanting filled the air with a slumbrous murmur of
sound, broken by the sharper yells of the tribesmen who thronged the
beach before the encampment.  Sea and land were astir with life, the
hills shaken by the assembled might of the Northern warriors.

Anson responded to the exhilaration of the excitement and the day.  He
shook off his sleepiness and strode briskly beside the Haida girl who
led the way to the water-front.  His motley garb, half-savage and
half-civilised, blended well enough with the varied accoutrements of
the Indians upon the beach.  In masks and dancing-robes, gaily bedecked
with abalone and vivid dyes, the Haidas awaited their guests.  The
lodges were emptied, squaws and children mingling freely with the
braves and those especially set aside as dancers.  Music, too, was not
lacking, for the leaders in that art had assembled their orchestras of
trumpeters and drummers who vied with each other in making a din louder
than the shouts of the assembly.  The drums were particularly in
evidence and greatly excited Richard's curiosity.  Some of them were
square, others rounded, but all made of the wood of the red cedar
painted with symbolic designs, over which framework were stretched taut
deerskin hides.  Beating upon them, the musicians produced weird
effects--the rattling sound of musketry in action, the subdued
throbbing surge of surf or the echoes of receding thunder.

As the incoming canoes reached the shore they were met by naked slaves
who rushed in a body into the water and drew them safely to land.  The
various parties, headed by dancers and musicians, made their way up the
hill to the space before the great lodge of Tik-atl.  Here were piled
immense heaps of blankets, skins of the bear, otter and seal, cunningly
wrought weapons of war and the chase and, beside them, slaves who stood
ready to be transferred to new owners in the lottery which was to
follow.

This accumulated wealth was the property of a brother of Tsik-an, the
Snake, who upon his elevation to the rank of chief had decided to
impress the world with his abundance and power.  In recent raids upon
the mainland peoples he had mightily distinguished himself and, during
the days of the feasting, there would be erected a huge totem pole
whereon would be told the story of the prowess of his ancestors.
Before his lodge lay the great timber, hewn and carved, its grotesque
symbols shining with the paint which had not yet dried upon the wood.

Keet-sa-o answered Anson's inquiries regarding the various crests and
insignia of rank which adorned the visitors.  She had, for the moment,
dispensed with her Indian taciturnity and was all sunshine and
laughter, a bit of natural beauty strangely relieving the fantastic
distortions which her kinsmen seemingly considered worthy of
admiration.  Richard told her of the shaman's promise that he should be
made a brave during the festive week.  Quickly she glanced at him, then
at those who stood near.  She was suddenly grave, the laughter stilled
upon her lips.  Remaining close to his side, she lingered behind the
crowds until they were comparatively alone.  In a tone so low as not to
be overheard by any except her companion, she said:

"You must not go into the forest.  Keet-sa-o knows."

"It is for that, indeed, that I have come to your lodges," replied
Anson.  "Why should I not go, then?  Your young men have gone and have
returned with a greater wisdom....  Is it not so?"

The girl murmured hesitatingly, "Yes, you will go.  You came for that.
Your heart is set on it.  But, I--I am afraid!"

Richard pressed her to tell all that she feared.  She would not reply
and for a space was silent.  Then she shook her head.

"It is a squaw's fear.  You are a man.  Yes, you will go."

She walked quickly forward to join the stragglers who were climbing the
hill path before them.

Anson noticed that the Indians were not assembling before the lodge of
the shaman.  They paused, in groups, to examine the variety of
treasures which lay heaped before his door.  Then, the first curiosity
satisfied, they proceeded to the space before the house of Ka-weah in
whose honour the feasting had been ordained.  There lay the great totem
pole, newly finished and ready for erection.  The fresh earth was
heaped beside the hole prepared to receive the base of the pillar.

With just pride, the artist, Akana, Maker of Totems, surveyed his
handiwork.  His family, possessing the hereditary skill of many past
generations, had hands which obeyed with unerring precision the
commands of the master-brain.  From the trunk of a mountain cedar which
had braved centuries of wind and weather, he had wrought this monument
to his craft and the fame of Ka-weah's ancestors.  With adze and axe of
stone, with maul and wedge of the same primitive sort, he had
accomplished what few artificers with finely wrought tools of steel
could have rivalled.  For whether it happened to be the gigantic wooden
poles that stood in serried rows before the Haida lodges or the
meticulously wrought, highly polished statuettes of black slate which
he produced, into the work of his hand was projected a wisdom older
than time.

In the pyramids, in the Taj Mahal, the rock caves of Elephanta, the
giant images of Easter Island, the crypts and temples of Yucatan,
Akana's predecessors had woven their visions of the power and majesty
of the unseen spirit world.  What mattered it that the Egyptians had
called his Wolf, Anubis; or the pinions of his Thunderbird, the wings
of Horus?  The inner meaning was the same.  Crowning the pole was the
Great Raven and below it was Hoh-hok, the mythical bird of prey,
holding in its talons the body of a whale.  Then in order came the
giant Frog of the Sea who needed a fin to propel him upwards from the
depths of his ocean lair; Wasku, the sea-wolf, who was a devourer of
those who fell into the hungry maws of the raging waters; the Killer
Whale, and again the Raven with a broken beak closely set above the
head of the Grizzly Bear whose body formed the base of the column.
Myths as old as the earth, symbols that spoke of ages when strange
creatures, half-bird and half-reptile, scaled and winged monsters of
sea and air, fought for existence in the fiery mists of prehistoric
jungles, figures that bodied forth the fantastic terror haunting the
borderlands of sleep and delirium, all were wrought from the cedar that
had overlooked the Northern sea while Rome fell and new empires were
built upon its ruins.

When Master Anson and Keet-sa-o drew near, the medicine men had already
begun their incantations over the totem pole.  Tik-atl, from the
mounded earth of the excavation, was directing their movements.  The
din of their yells and the rattles which they wielded drowned the
chatter of the audience who ringed the sward before the chief's house.
A swaying movement of the crowd communicated from those nearest the
door prevented Richard from pressing forward into the throng and, at
that moment, a piercing cry was heard which drew all eyes to the
entrance of the lodge.  In the doorway there appeared a number of
warriors who bore between them the naked and struggling form of a girl
slave.  Although bound hand and foot, her lips were free and from them
issued a succession of agonising screams which chilled the Englishman's
blood.  He heard Keet-sa-o's voice from where she stood behind him:

"Come away!  Quickly--oh, come away!"

He felt himself dragged backward and, yielding, he turned to face his
companion.

"You must come," she repeated.  "I did not know they would do this.  I
cannot bear it."  Her face was drawn--her eyes wide with terror.

"What will they do?"

"The slave will be thrown into the pit and the totem placed on top of
her.  Come!"  Placing her hands over her ears, Keet-sa-o turned and
fled down the hill.  Anson was not slow to follow her and was glad,
indeed, that the voices of the yelling Indians submerged the cries of
the victim.

Could anything but evil dwell in hearts which could tolerate such
cruelty?  With his consternation at this depravity and his sorrow for
the innocent sufferer were mingled distrust and fear of the shaman who
had led him north upon his quest of knowledge.  The action of the old
crone who had given him Tik-atl's charms, Keet-sa-o's warning--all
strengthened the feeling that he had been deceived--misled by his own
desperate desire.  He determined to wrest from Keet-sa-o the truth in
regard to her father.

Following the footsteps of the flying girl, he skirted the beach which
was deserted except by a few of the younger children who played in the
sands.  The blue expanse of the sea, the snow-capped mountains upon the
horizon spoke only of beauty and peace.  Was it always the part of
humanity to soil the face of nature with barbarism?

Keet-sa-o was running as if pursued by demons.  The man's breath came
hard and fast as he climbed the moss-covered cliff that lay to the east
of the encampment.  Over the rim of this, the girl's blanket had
fluttered as she plunged through the underbrush growing upon the
farther side.  Breaking his way through salal and a thick growth of
young spruce, he found her seated upon the white beach of a little cove
that lay sheltered from sight or sound of the village.  He remembered
that she had lingered behind the shadow of this promontory upon the
night when he had first met her.  She lay now, flushed and panting,
upon the sand at his feet.  Anson seated himself beside her.

"Keet-sa-o, you are a Haida.  Why are you different from your kinsmen
or--from Tik-atl, your father?"

"I do not know," replied the girl.  "Maybe it is because I am a squaw.
Maybe it is because I have lived much alone and apart from all people.
I have lived much with the flowers and trees.  They do not hurt.  They
heal."

Anson leaned towards her.

"Methinks you are more like those same flowers and trees, Keet-sa-o.
It is strange that, in this savage spot, you should have a heart like
those in English bosoms--a heart which can pity and love.  Will you
tell me some things which I wish to know--which I must know?"

The maiden shifted the coils of her dark hair so that they partially
covered her face and eyes.

"Keet-sa-o will tell you the truth," she murmured.

"Then, tell me, pray,"--Richard hesitated--"tell me if the knowledge
which your father possesses is of good or of evil."

He reached into the bosom of his shirt and drew forth the embroidered
sack containing the magician's charms.  "An old woman, who does not
love your father, gave this to me."

He held the bag towards the girl who sat up suddenly and looked at the
little buckskin pouch, while a strange expression of alarm flashed
across her face.

"I know," she muttered presently.  "My mother gave it to you."

"Your mother!" retorted Anson.  "That old crone!  Is she, then, the
wife of Tik-atl?"

"No, she is not his wife.  She never was his wife.  She was my mother,
but I died when I was still a little girl.  Then I was born as daughter
to another woman and Tik-atl."

The man looked at her in bewilderment.  The idea of reincarnation,
which was part of the Indian faith, was new to him.  Truly, in the days
succeeding his vision of Auria and her Peruvian kingdom, he had felt
that in some unknown fashion he was linked with ages that were past and
buried, but he had never seriously formed a theory about the matter.
Keet-sa-o had much difficulty in making her meaning clear.  But, in a
few moments, his brain, slow to grasp the things of the spirit, had a
dawning conception of what to her was simple fact.

"But you have not told me if your father's wisdom is of light or
darkness."  He was anxious to press the main issue.

"What is light to some is darkness to others," she told him.  "My
father has talked with the spirits of the air and the fire, the earth
and the sea.  He has powers which he can use for good or for evil if he
so wills.  The powers themselves are not good nor are they evil.  This
I know inside of me, but it is hard to say it in words.  I think--if
the powers come to you--you will use them for good."

Her simple wisdom, deeper than his own, though so haltingly expressed,
was exactly what Master Anson required at the moment.  He was
determined now to go through with his venture.  Whatever of knowledge
he obtained he could use to assist Auria in her work and thus he would
gain a place at her side.

They rose and wandered together in the woods.  From this child of
nature, unspoiled by the orthodoxies and conventions which hedged her
civilised sisters, the man learned many things.  He was a wiser man
when, in the twilight, they turned their steps once more towards
Tik-atl's lodges.  At the edge of the forest surrounding the village
they parted.  They endeavoured to reach their respective places without
exciting attention.

So enwrapt was Richard in thought, that he scarcely heard footsteps
which halted at his door.  Opening, there entered Tik-atl accompanied
by a slave who stood cowering beside his master as they took their
stand within the entrance.  The fire which burned in the centre of the
lodge cast fantastic shadows of the shaman upon the wall and illumined
his evil visage distorted by passion and cruelty.  His eyes looked
straight into those of Anson.  His voice was impersonal.  He spoke as
the oracle of powers beyond himself.

"The stars stand in wait, O white chief!  Even Tik-atl, the Mighty,
cannot refuse their demand.  This slave will lead you to the place
where you must meet their messenger face to face.  No food must pass
your lips.  There you must remain, fasting and praying, until the Great
One shall come to you.  Are you prepared?"

In the silence which followed the white man heard the beating of his
own heart.  Immobile, towering above him in the sombre robes of his
office, the magician waited.

"I am ready," said Anson quietly.




CHAPTER XVI

IN THE BORDERLAND

Into the moonless night, a dim twilit land of stars, Master Anson
followed his guide who glided before him silently, a shadow slipping
between the trunks of the great firs.  They had entered the forest
which lay to the south of the village and were climbing a narrow trail
which led to the summit of the low mountains overlooking the strait.
In some places the path led through open spaces where moss-covered
ledges of rock afforded a soil too thin to support vegetation.  Here
they found their progress impeded by the nature of the growth beneath
their feet.  It was soft as a Persian carpet, but of so smooth a
texture that they had difficulty in standing upright.  They slipped and
scrambled over the springy turf until the spruce thickets closed about
them again.  Here the underbrush was dense as that in a tropical
jungle, the giant conifers towering above them like pillars springing
from the base of solid greenery.  The gloom was unbroken and the
silence oppressive in these forest tracts.  The misted blue of the few
strips of sky visible overhead was besprinkled sparsely with stars
which seemed remote as if belonging to some strata of a world above and
beyond them.

For fully the space of an hour, Anson stumbled after the sinuous form
which flitted before him.  His endurance was taxed to the uttermost
limit in order to keep pace with his guide.  Finally they emerged into
an open space which lay at the foot of a precipitous cliff which rimmed
the crest of the hills.  Immediately at the base of the promontory
there was a fan-shaped rock-slide composed of jumbled fragments of
basalt lying like a supporting buttress against the wall above it.
Between this and the forest below there was a semicircular declivity
covered with a mantle of soft brown pine grass through which an
occasional boulder projected a sharp elbow.  Turning here, Master Anson
saw the grey stretches of the sea shining beneath the dark slopes which
he had just traversed and, beyond, like a bank of low-lying fog, the
snow-capped peaks of the great island to northward.  Ringed by the wall
of the silent woods and the adamantine barrier of the cliff, roofed by
the dim sky, it was an aerie perched above the world, shut off from
sight or sound of mortals, a sanctuary where only the wandering winds
whispered a message old as time, and the shadows of lonely clouds wrote
their story upon the grass of the hillside.  It breathed a peace that
was unruffled by the cruelty or ignorance which made "a place of tombs"
out of the community they had just left behind them.  Here, it could
indeed be imagined that spirit hands might draw aside a curtain.

The Englishman stood with bared head, allowing the night wind to cool
his forehead which was wet with perspiration.  The slave, after a short
space in which he seemed to be recovering himself after his exertion,
shivered slightly.  He glanced hurriedly about the place and upward to
the black cliff towering above them, then, without so much as a gesture
of farewell, turned towards the forest and a moment thereafter had
disappeared into the dark caverns between the trees.

Expectation, reinforced by a vivid imagination, is a mighty force
towards the accomplishment of the end desired.  Over seas fraught with
deadly peril, through days when uncertainty and loneliness had
pre-empted his spirit, among a savage people who revolted his
sensibilities by their cruelty and unnatural customs, Richard had been
steadfast and unmoved, because before him he saw a picture of himself
turning the key of a portal which would admit him to a world of which
he had but second-hand knowledge.  Of superhuman powers he had been
given evidence in his association with Auria.  He knew that her wisdom
was the hereditary property of the Indian.  He believed in its
existence as he had previously had faith in the teachings of his Bible,
but no clue had been given as to the path leading to the heart of the
mysteries.  Now, for the first time, a servant of the invisible powers
had said, "Watch and pray and the Great Spirit will speak to you."
Conquering for the nonce the superstitious fears which were part of
every Englishman's equipment in his day, he stood armed in spirit for
conflict with the legions of darkness, or for parley with a messenger
of light.

If he had been without hope or without imagination, nothing would have
been there for him in the dim-lit space between forest and cliff, but,
possessing both, everything or the possibility of everything was there
present.  There could be no sight which was not an intimation--no break
in the silence which was not a rift through which sounded the
approaching footstep of an event.

Master Anson watched while a wind, which flowed over the cliff above
him, rustling the shadowy tree-tops in its descent to the sea, gathered
clouds from somewhere to southward and drove them swiftly and silently
across the sky.  Their ragged vanguards spread like dark hands blotting
out the light of the stars until the sea was no longer visible as a
shimmering line beyond the land.  Darkness, palpable and impenetrable,
closed about him, shutting out suggestion of the world without himself.
Then it was that the man prayed, not to the personal deity of his
childhood but to the Spirit which he had learned to think of as
pervading all things, whether of earth or water, air or fire.  How long
he crouched in the darkness waiting, straining nerve and brain to sense
the presence of some unseen messenger, it would be hard to say.  The
wind brushing the grasses against his bare hands, the soft thud of his
own heart alone intimated that life was stirring about him.  A great
and overwhelming loneliness swept over him and he slept.

The cold dawn awakened Anson to a realisation that his vigil had just
commenced.  The sky was still overcast and the landscape obscured by
thick mists which had gathered during the night.  Shivering, he
endeavoured to restore the normal circulation by exercise.  His limbs,
cramped and stiffened, gradually felt the returning glow of warm blood.
Then, as if to add to his discomfort, it began to rain, at first
gently, but slowly increasing until a driving shower swept the space in
which he stood exposed.  He sought shelter beneath the boughs of the
trees fringing his little park, but the dripping branches only
partially protected him.  During the long hours of the day the weather
remained unchanged until, with the approach of darkness, there arose a
wind which lifted the clouds but in no measure abated Richard's
cheerlessness.  It was not a warm breeze from the south-west, but one
which flowed from the snow-covered Northern ranges.  He would have no
difficulty in keeping awake through the long watches of the night.

Four days and nights of discomfort and weariness followed.  Rain and
cold continued.  The man persevered in his hope that any moment might
bring the long-expected entry into a new experience.  He was willing to
pay the price and did not believe that the gates would swing open at
his first imperious summons.  Now a disconcerting complication troubled
him.  His health had been of the best until the continued strain of his
separation from Auria had begun to undermine it.  Inclined at all times
to be neglectful of his physical well-being, he had paid little or no
attention to the matter of food.  Now, his nerves, wrought to a high
state of tension, were his sole source of strength with which to resist
physical ill.  A headache accompanied by a high fever warned him that
all was not well, but, impatient to carry through his venture, he
dismissed the matter as incidental to his fasting.

On the evening of the fifth day a slanting sheet of rain drove across
the clearing and broke upon the rocky barrier below the cliff.  Master
Anson lay crouched in the shelter of a cedar whose long branches
touched the sodden earth of the hillside.  Suddenly he laughed.  The
sloping ground below the rock-slide, carpeted thickly with a matting of
grasses, was illumined by a pale green light, phosphorescent and
elusive, which flowed like the swirling water of a mountain torrent
downward to the dark edge of the forest.  Up the declivity, struggling
against the streaming radiance, were climbing numbers of tiny,
fantastic figures more grotesque than the trolls of Peer Gynt's dream.
Rotund rabbits whose quivering ears supported Milanese bonnets, hen
partridges flapping in crinolines and lace, solemn crows fluttering in
clerical broadcloth and bands--these, with others of the furred and
feathered folk in motley garb of the court and camp, curveted and slid,
fell and pushed forward again in an attempt to gain headway against the
light.  Then the whole weird scene was blotted from sight as if by an
invisible breath.  Only the towering black front of the cliff and a
handful of twinkling stars remained.  Master Anson struggled feebly in
the gloom and groaned.

A warm stream, as of perspiration, trickled down his forehead and his
eyes smarted from the intrusion of the briny moisture.  A flash, red
and lurid, illumined a space before him in which were clustered faces
grim and sinister which pressed in as if to submerge and overwhelm him.
In his hand was a short sword; behind him the cold, rounded surface of
a stone pillar; below, a wide staircase thronged with a seething mob of
armed men bearing aloft torches whose flickering light revealed the
scene.  A soft hand rested for an instant upon his head so that he
glanced upward.  There, above him, upon a projection from the side of
the column, stood a woman, her white robes dishevelled, her unbound
hair partially veiling her face.  "Auria!"  Even as the name sprang to
his lips, a surging movement of the crowd before him drew his whole
attention to the danger which confronted him.  The light danced upon
the bared weapons advancing towards him.  A few seconds of desperate
sword-play and then ... a spasm of pain gripped and held him
momentarily in its power.  Darkness followed, but a dull agony still
continued to clutch at his heart.

Gradually the pain subsided, to give place to an indefinable terror--a
creeping sensation of horror which bound him helpless to move or cry
aloud while it stole towards him through the silence.  It was there, he
knew, without his leafy covert---in possession of the clearing.  If
upon his face he had felt the foetid breath of some monster feeling for
his throat, he would not have been more certain of immediate peril.
Between him and the cliff it stood, gloating, before it leaped to
destroy him.  He clutched at the grass roots in his fear.  Death held
no special dread but this invisible Presence threatened something
beyond loss of life.  It was crouching now to spring.  Richard felt a
shadowy body launched through the air, a cold wind followed by a fiery
breath.  Despair gave him voice.  His agonised cry tore through the
darkness of the forest.

A sudden rush of rain followed, drowning his groanings.  The few stars
that had, for an instant, struggled through the mists overhead, were
obscured.  Alone, ringed round by terror, the man lay raving under the
spell of delirium.


The feast of totems was drawing to a close.  Five days of continuous
ceremonials and merry-making had crowned Ka-weah with a fame that would
go down to his children's children.  In groups, the visiting Haidas
were departing to their respective villages, bearing with them, in
their long canoes, precious freight of blankets, weapons and ornaments
received during the big potlatch.  However, the lodge of Tik-atl was
still occupied by his relatives in force, so that he was compelled to
seek privacy in the house of the Snake.

In the centre of his henchman's lodge there stood a circular hearth of
clean white sand rimmed with clam-shells whereon there was smouldering
a fire which lighted the room.  The red embers illumined the faces of
the magician and his host who were the sole occupants of the place.
The great entrance had been securely barred against chance stragglers
from the feast.

Tik-atl, still in his ceremonial robes, held beneath his arm a
curiously shaped bundle wrapped in a yellow mat of cedar bark.
Depositing this upon the floor near the fire, he directed his companion
to untie the ropes with which it was bound.  Tsik-an obeyed and
presently there appeared a statuette or image composed of some
clay-like substance which looked like putty as it glistened in the
firelight.  As the Snake turned the lay figure face upward, it
presented features strangely like those of Master Anson, the white
chief.  The cheeks were painted to represent the ruddy complexion of
the Englishman; even his brown hair had been simulated by a hemp-like
substance which might have been seaweed of some peculiar variety.
Grotesque and crude though it was, it presented a reasonably accurate
image of the man whom Tik-atl had drawn into his toils.

The shaman leisurely divested himself of his cumbersome garments until
naked with the exception of a narrow belt about his waist.  His tall
figure gleamed like a bronze statue in the firelight.  Then, replacing
his ceremonial bonnet from which dangled rows of costly ermine skins,
he seized a rattle which was attached to his discarded clothing.  This
tool of the magician's trade was a handsomely carved instrument of red
cedar, the major portion of the convex surface being formed to
represent the sun with projecting rays, while the long, slender handle
was beautifully inlaid with bits of mother-of-pearl.  Tik-atl swung the
rattle slowly with a circular movement above his head, increasing the
speed until the air vibrated with the droning of its flight.  While the
insistent hum gradually increased in volume and intensity, he commenced
to chant an accompaniment as he moved in a rhythmical dance about the
figure which lay upon the floor.

The sorcerers of the mediaeval age just ending in England had no
greater knowledge of their ancient art than this priest of the darkness
who ruled his tribes in the undiscovered wilds of America.  It had been
the practice, from time immemorial, of those who dabbled in the black
arts, to wreak their vengeance upon an enemy by making for themselves
an image of the victim, of wax or other plastic material, upon which
they inflicted the tortures which they wished to transmit to the man
himself.  Tik-atl, armed with his evil wisdom, was quite capable of
placing the white chief upon the rack mentally or physically in order
to draw him under the spell of the nature forces who were his own
guides and servants.  Instinctively, he knew that Anson was, in some
respects, his superior in mentality and possessed of a will no less
determined than his own.  But, worn by fasting and loss of sleep, his
physical resistance might be broken down so that his wandering mind
might leave unguarded the doors of his house of clay.  Then could other
minds and wills find entrance and, taking possession, hold the man at
the disposition of their lord and master, the great magician of the
Haidas.  It might even be desirable to send Anson back to the Salish
villages, knowing that, in him, there would be a sworn ally of the
powers of darkness.  Auria, the white priestess, would have within her
camp and in the person of her most trusted guardian an emissary of the
Haidas, ruthless as the winds which swept their rock-bound islands,
subtle as the great serpent who guarded their waters.

Crouched by the fire, Tsik-an sat silent as an image carved in wood
while the shaman proceeded with his incantations.  The black eyes of
the Snake glistened in the light from the embers, but no movement or
sound betrayed his intense interest in the results of the spell which
was being woven about the white chief.

The walls of the lodge were shaking now with the combined roaring of
the magician's rattle and the steady throbbing of his voice, backed by
the concentrated power of his emotion.  From somewhere in the invisible
world, he had gathered in as to a focal point elemental forces which
swayed at his command, struggling like hungry wolves on the leash held
by his will to evil.  Circling the lay form and prostrate figure of his
enemy innumerable times, he swept onward in his dance which was a
strange admixture of restraint and abandonment.  Then, of a sudden, he
paused and bent above his victim.

His whole attitude was that of a wild beast about to spring upon its
prey.  Even Tsik-an moved slightly as if to avoid some doom which was
poised before being launched like a destroying avalanche.  The hands of
the magician were fumbling at his waist quietly, but now more
uncertainly.  His face, set in its intensity of passion, relaxed and,
with an impatient snarl, he took his gaze from the image of clay and
looked downward to the belt which girded his loins.  His jaws snapped
as he whirled to face Tsik-an.

"My medicine-bag!  It is gone!"

The Snake knew that day and night, sleeping or awake, this package of
charms stayed upon the person of his chief.  From the hour of his
initiation it was his guardian.  The Haida rose and stood, trembling,
before his master.

"No--no--that cannot be!  Who would dare...?" he stammered.

The shaman looked as if to spring upon his henchman.

"It is gone!  I tell you, it is gone!"  His face worked convulsively.
"Go, bring the squaw, Keet-sa-o, my daughter.  She alone enters my
house in the night.  Go!"

As if driven by an angry wind, the Snake gathered his robes about him
and fled through the doorway of the lodge.

With the uneasy, elastic step of a caged animal, the shaman paced up
and down the floor of Tsik-an's house.  Viciously he kicked out at the
image of his victim, which impeded his path, so that it lay sputtering
and baking within the circle of the embers on the hearth.  Then a cold
breeze from without scattered the fire and ashes and his warrior stood
upon the platform within the great door.

"I have searched, O Mighty One.  The maiden is not to be found.  It is
said that, at sundown, she was seen going into the forest.  She was
alone but carried a burden."

Tik-atl turned his back upon the brave and for a space stood quietly.
Then he laughed.  It was not a sound that was good to hear, but it
relieved the fear of Tsik-an who gazed wonderingly at him as he faced
about.

"We are fools, Tsik-an!  The gods have chosen their own way to destroy
the white chief.  What need had I to call upon the spirits of earth and
air when love is a guide without eyes?  A spell more powerful than my
charms will hold him helpless while he dreams in the arms of a Haida.
Now--I must go--over the dark waters to the camp of the priestess of
the Salish!  She will kneel to the power of the hand that has taken her
warrior.  She, too, is a woman and love--I who know have said it--is
blind!"


Alone, in the grip of delirium, Master Anson fought with the powers of
darkness below the black cliff which overlooked the Northern seas.
With its characteristic waves, the fever made him conscious at times
that he was in the control of a disease and then again plunged him into
a coma which swept him outward into unknown depths of night and the
mists of illusion.  When conscious he had risen and, with a desperate
effort, had dragged himself from beneath the tree which sheltered him
until he crouched in the open grass-covered space before the rocky
barrier of the hill.  But there his strength had failed him and he had
collapsed, sinking into a limp heap which lay motionless upon the
ground.

As the disorder progressed his lucid intervals became shorter until he
was entirely within the power of the malady.  Through all the
experiences which succeeded the first entrance into the borderland
between waking consciousness and its fantastic counterpart in the realm
of dream, there was a persistent recurrence of the face and form of
Auria.  At one moment he lay bound and powerless while she perished in
agony before his eyes.  He was tortured by the thought that, if he
could only cast off the spell which bound him fast, one touch from his
hand would save her.  He saw her ringed about with dangers innumerable,
her beauty helpless in the clutch of foul and evil men, and again he
watched, in terror and amazement, while her golden hair became grey and
sparse, her glorious features marred and wrinkled by age and
decrepitude.  The physical brain, wearied by the strain, finally
succumbed and he no longer knew that which transpired in the haunted
places of the invisible world of dreams.

Richard's first presentiment that he was returning to life came when he
felt that he was being borne upward on unseen but powerful wings from
some black depth that had engulfed him.  He was dimly aware of the rush
of pinions through vast empty spaces, a cool air which fanned his brow
and a glimmering light gradually growing brighter which suggested
sunlight and green grass and a fragrance as of flowers after rain.
Opening his eyes, he looked into the face of Keet-sa-o, who bent above
him while she chafed his hands and brushed back the hair from his
forehead.

A blazing fire near by leaped and crackled, the fragrant cedar and fir
boughs casting showers of sparks against the blackness of the forest.
The Haida girl had taken off her outer garment, a blanket of the soft
wool of the mountain goat, and, wrapping it into a bundle, had placed
it beneath Anson's head.  In her short kirtle of deerskin, her dark
hair clothing her shoulders, she was an alluring picture of savage
beauty.  When Richard stirred in a vain attempt to rise, she smiled and
shook her head.

"Not yet, my chief, my beloved.  When the dawn comes, we shall try what
you can do.  Till then, rest and Keet-sa-o will watch."

The maiden rose and went swiftly to the fire.  Presently she returned
with a wooden bowl in which was steaming a savoury broth.

"It was hard to bring, but I carried it carefully and have it all.  My
mother makes good baskets.  You must try to drink some of it."

Having taken some of the broth, the man felt a glow of returning
strength.  He sank contentedly back upon the blanket and closed his
eyes.  Presently he murmured:

"Why did you do this for me, Keet-sa-o?  I am not of your people and
may be, at any time, forced to be their enemy.  How did you know that I
was perishing?"

"How did I know?  How does the bird know that somewhere high up in the
blue a hawk is circling above her loved ones?  How do I know why I am
your friend?  You have been kind to me and Keet-sa-o never forgets.
Besides, I know the heart of my father."

"He could not know that I would be ill," said Richard.  "And he gave me
my chance as he had promised."

"When my father promises," whispered the girl, "it is because he wishes
to increase his own power.  You might, indeed, have become a brave and
have entered into your totem, but that would have been because you
yourself have the warrior's heart and have no fear.  You are ill now
and must not talk."

With gentle, restraining hands she touched his lips so that he could
not reply.  A feeling of tenderness, an affection which drew him
strangely to her, grew in the man's heart.  She was all that a woman
might be to heal and to strengthen when the conflict of life had proved
too strenuous.  An instant pain was present, suffusing his thoughts
which went out towards the little Haida maiden.  Loyalty to Love
forbade that he should give way to anything which might dim his memory
of the one woman.  He lay very silent, and presently his breathing
showed that he was falling asleep.  Through the long hours of darkness
Keet-sa-o watched and waited for the dawn.




CHAPTER XVII

LIGHT AND DARKNESS

"The Haidas, O great queen, are wolves.  In the night they creep--creep
like shadows through the forest.  Their canoes leave a serpent trail
upon the waters.  No salmon will run where their paddles have poisoned
the sea."

Auria smiled indulgently at the fervour of hatred in her maiden's
voice.  The girl, slim as a young fawn, with eyes that held the
devotion of dumb, woodland things towards the hand that feeds them, was
busily engaged in the task of braiding the hair of her mistress.  Her
comb of polished cedar-wood was quite as effective and beautiful as the
most modern instrument of ivory.  The golden hair of her queen was a
continuous wonder and delight to her handmaiden.

"You are safe, little one.  Why should you let fear disturb your
dreams?  Our scouts, of late, have brought no word of Haida canoes and
you know that they have been far north in search of the white chief."

The little brown maiden was silent.  She had reason to think that her
mistress might be happier if she did not speak further of the great
white warrior who had so mysteriously disappeared from their villages.

Auria was seated upon a rude chair covered by richly embroidered
deerskins.  With her maid, she was alone in the great council-house
which served as a home for herself and attendants and a temple for the
celebration of her religious ceremonies.  The large room in which she
was sitting was a spacious hall.  Its sides held the apartments of her
servants.  The centre of it was bare of furniture, and upon the earthen
floor were the remnants of smouldering charcoal from the fires about
which the ritualistic dances were held.  At the end of the building
farthest from the great entrance was partitioned off the private adytum
of the priestess.  Steps led to the portals of this apartment, the door
of which was guarded by two beautifully carved and coloured totem poles.

The wisdom of the handmaiden was correct in its surmise.  In the heart
of her princess a terrific struggle had been waged between the woman
and the priestess when Master Anson had gone upon his quest to the land
of the Haidas.  Though the woman had been defeated and set aside by the
devotee who was pledged to the service of her people, there had been a
sudden accession of human emotion when she knew that Richard was no
longer within call of her voice.  The Salish braves, spurred by her
orders, had searched the coasts of the mainland for traces of the
missing man and the tribes of the interior had sheltered her spies
while they sought for clues leading to an explanation of his absence.
Night and day her prayers had gone up to the powers of earth and fire
for him, and her art, in so far as was permitted, was strained to
discover reasons for his disappearance.  But no answer had come in
response to her efforts.  Her face was a mask which held for her Indian
counsellors no hint of what was passing in her mind.

Bestowing a hasty caress on the maiden, she rose when her toilet was
completed.  The mention of Master Anson had stirred her again.  She
dismissed the girl.

Time and circumstance had failed to affect the beauty which was hers.
In every detail she was the same fascinating vision of loveliness that
had awed the English sea-dogs when Master Vicary had haled her from the
hold of the Spanish galleon.  She was clothed now in remnants of the
rich finery which she had preserved through all her adventures but, in
addition, she wore barbaric ornaments peculiar to the Coast Indians.  A
belt of cedar fibre, tastefully coloured and as soft and as pliant as
velvet, confined her flowing robe; a fillet of the same material above
her brow bound the luxuriance of her fair hair, while the jewels which
she had brought from Mexico still adorned her person.

The momentary storm of her emotions left her pale and distraught.
Again she was blaming herself bitterly for having dealt so hardly with
Master Anson since their arrival among the Salish.  Resolutely she had
rejected his love, in the belief that it would detract from her
life-work.  Having started upon the long road of self-development by
means of the ascetic discipline of the old Aztec schools, she felt
constrained to continue.  Her power over the tribes was unbounded for
good or evil.  This power she looked upon as a trust to be held for
them.  Yet the English adventurer had awakened the woman soul in her.
She loved him but refused human expression to her love.  The gulf
between them seemed impassable.  To him her world was a chimera of the
imagination.  If now he were dead, might he not know the reality of her
realm of the spirit?  If alive, might he not benefit by the help which
her presence could give him?  She remembered the touch of his hand, the
passionate undertones in his voice which had stirred the primitive in
her.  How her blood had sung in answer to the simple words, "I love
you"!  And now ... she might never again hear those words upon human
lips.  She buried her face in her hands.

A sound of someone entering the room caused her to turn her back to the
great entrance door while she quickly removed traces of her grief.  It
was the priestess, serene, gracious, who faced the handmaiden who spoke
to her.  The girl's eyes were shining with excitement.

"My queen, I have news!  We have captured a Haida spy.  Even now your
warriors are dragging him here.  They would know your will.  He may
know..."

Auria checked her suddenly.

"Nothing or everything!"

Iala, the handmaiden, stood silently before her mistress awaiting her
commands.  Her head was bowed, her hands crossed over her bosom.  When
the priestess spoke, Auria was in place of God to her servant.

"Tell Na-tatl that I would speak with him alone."

Na-tatl, in Anson's absence, was her foremost warrior and, indeed, had
always been admitted to her councils when the Englishman had been
forced to wait without her lodge for his orders.  Presently the great
Salish brave entered and, gliding swiftly to her side, knelt at her
feet.  Only to her maidens was it permitted to stand in her presence.

"Tell me, Na-tatl--this Haida spy--where did you come by him?  Have you
questioned him?"

The man answered hurriedly.  It was difficult to follow the swift
Salish tongue which clicked and slid over the torrent of breath.

"Many nights, O Great One, have our canoes slipped through the shadows
in the Northern waters.  As nearly as we dared, we searched the land of
the Haida devils for the white chief.  None of our own people have seen
aught of the Haidas on our coasts of late--and we were too few to
attack them in their own villages.  But, on the nearby shores, we
lurked by day and searched by night.  Then, knowing that you waited for
word from us, we turned homeward.  On our way we captured a Haida.
Dumb as a snake he has been since first we bound him and threw him into
our canoe.  But he will speak under torture."

"He has not spoken, then?"

"No word has passed his lips."

Auria paused before giving her order.

"Bring him here--at once."

When the captured Haida was brought to her, she was standing upon the
lower steps leading to her private apartment.  Between the totem poles,
clad in her flowing robes and glittering jewels, the sunlight from the
grand entrance to the lodge fell full upon her.  Radiant, cold fire
incarnate in flesh, she was truly a Daughter of the Sun.

If awed by the strange sight of her magnificence, the spy betrayed no
hint of it as he stood before her.  He was a powerfully built savage,
evidently one used to command by right of blood.  Even the frayed and
soiled bark-cloth robe which he held about his body could not conceal
the touch of the leader in the set of his shoulders and his erect,
unbending carriage.  His hands were securely bound behind him by a
plaited cord.

"Release him, Na-tatl, and leave us.  I will speak to him alone."
Auria caught the look of hesitation in the eyes of the Salish.  "Have
no fear.  The Great God who delivered him into our hands is stronger
than a Haida.  Go now.  I will question him."

Auria had too recently been shaken by her personal feelings towards
Master Anson.  Something might betray to the Salish brave a human
reason for her anxiety in regard to the white chief.  If he had met
death by the cruel hands of the Northern savages, she was not certain
of her self-control.

Reluctantly Na-tatl cut the cord binding the Haida's hands.  He then
retired sullenly through the door.  To plunge a knife into the spy's
heart would have been more to his liking than to leave him as he did.

When released, the Haida folded his arms across his breast and, with
head thrown back, looked up at Auria.  His lynx-like eyes were full,
the pupils round and filled with tawny light.  His immobile face showed
no sign of astonishment nor of fear.  The priestess shuddered inwardly
at the evil power, the untamed ferocity of will, which radiated from
the man.  This was, assuredly, no ordinary spy.  She drew her breath
sharply.  The sunlight flooding the centre of the hall seemed suddenly
dimmed.  But her voice remained under control.

"You speak Salishan?"

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

She was startled by the man's action.  With a swift gesture he slipped
the robe from his shoulders and threw it at her feet.  His head was
bowed momentarily before her, his arms outstretched in worship.  Then
he stood erect, clothed only in his close-fitting tunic and beaded belt.

"One who has dared death to look upon the face of the Sun!  A Son of
the Dark Wisdom seeks the light.  Tik-atl has paid the price.  But, of
late, his eyes have been darkened by a star greater than his own.  His
people perish for he can aid them no longer.  For them he has come."

The fame of the mighty magician of the North was common talk among the
Salish tribes.  His name was familiar to Auria.  Could it be possible
that this was he?  How improbable that he would venture alone into an
enemy's country when he could have come in force!  Yet--what was this
wall of impenetrable darkness which suddenly blotted him from sight?
Her will fought desperately for mastery and, instantly, the room was
light again--the man facing her as before.  She knew now.

"I have heard of your fame.  But why have you come?  You have not told
me all."

The Haida spoke deliberately, choosing his words.  The Salishan tongue
was causing him some difficulty.

"For many suns Tik-atl ruled supreme.  All power was given to him
because his heart had no fear.  The Ravens were his and the Great One
blessed our hunting.  The sea gave us its silver spoil of salmon and
our enemies were as dust before the wind of our wrath.  But now our
lodges are desolate.  Our young men return with empty hands from the
hills.  Our nets bring only seaweed from the deeps.  Our warriors are
weak and have no will to take what is theirs nor to hold what they
have.  Why?  The Daughter of the Sun has been with their enemies.  Have
we of the North not more need of Her light than these children who have
no winter?  Come to us!  I speak with the voice of my people."

Could this man, who was evil incarnate, have a heart?  Auria doubted
it, but yet the fact that he was here present seemed proof of a
devotion to his kinsmen.  Was it merely the long-standing feud of the
tribes that had poisoned the minds of the Salish until they had
believed that no good could exist in the soul of a Haida?

"It was not my will," she said, "but the will of the Great Spirit that
sent me to the Salish.  To Him, the Haidas are as dear as any of His
children.  But if I leave these whom He has given to me--if I go to the
Haida lodges, who will take my place while I am gone?"

"Hearken," retorted the shaman, "hearken to my lesser wisdom.  The
hatred of Salish for Haida is long and an evil thing.  Why should not
all the children of the Great Spirit live at peace?  Together, the
Daughter of the Sun as High Priestess, and Tik-atl as her spokesman,
can unite the peoples from here to the farthest North where the sky is
streaked with crackling fire.  The white chief waits in my lodge to
hear the mighty news that you will help him in this great work for the
welfare of all."

Auria started.  Tik-atl's last sentence had been delivered casually.
But a momentary gleam in his eyes showed that he knew the import of his
words.  With an effort, she said calmly:

"The white chief is in your lodges?  Does he know that you are here?"

"He has sent me," replied the Haida.

Auria remained silent for a space.

"I do not believe you."  She spoke quietly.

For the first time during the interview, the face of the man was
stirred from its passivity.  His eyes flashed angrily but his lips
smiled.

"Does the great white magician need to believe me?  Her eyes may be
opened.  The water will tell no lies."

"You have spoken well, O Haida," murmured Auria; "the water may reveal
things as they are, although it has hitherto given no sign.  We shall
see!"

While still speaking, the woman turned and, quickly mounting the steps
leading to the adytum, she disappeared through the doorway.  Presently
she returned bearing in her hands an earthen bowl ornamented with a
coloured pattern of Indian design.  The vessel, which was filled with
water, she placed upon a stand on the landing before the door.  Tik-atl
mounted the steps and stood beside her.

The bowl was lined with a substance of silvery, metallic lustre so that
the water formed a mirror in which were reflected the faces of Auria
and the shaman.  The priestess bowed her head in silence for a moment,
then held her hands, with fingers slightly curved downwards, over the
liquid.  Tik-atl bent forward, his gaze riveted upon the water.

Very soon the faces of the two magicians disappeared from the depths of
the bowl and a black surface, blank and dull, was seen in place of
their images.  Smoky lines, pearly grey as wisps of mist on a fir-clad
slope, began to glide over the darkness at the bottom of the vessel.
These, suffused with opalescent colours, arranged themselves into
definite outlines, while the hues took their rightful places on tree,
rock and sky, forming a bit of landscape.

Seated on a smooth-worn log beside a piece of kelp-strewn sand were two
figures, one of which was familiar to Auria.  Master Anson, in his
semi-barbaric costume, sat idly engaged in whittling a bit of red
cedar-wood with his sheath-knife.  At his side, her arm laid
caressingly across his bent shoulders, was an Indian girl of more than
ordinary beauty.  The maiden presently laid her head against the man's
arm.

Auria in vain tried to stem the sudden storm of pain that arose in her
heart.  It welled through her being, paling her lips and dimming her
sight, so that she no longer saw the picture below her.  In that
instant, the austere Daughter of the Sun was banished and, in her
place, the woman who loved and would possess reigned with undisputed
sway.  If he had died, she could have worshipped his memory; if he had
lived, cherishing only the thought of her, she could have mourned for
him, but the knowledge that there was another woman brought only the
old, fierce, primitive pain of loss and despair.  Blindly, she struck
at the thing nearest to her.

"In this you have not lied, O Father of Serpents!  Nevertheless, you
are a liar.  You can harbour no thought of good to the people who are
mine.  Why you have come I know not, but this I know: you shall return
no more to work your evil upon others.  I shall destroy you as I would
a foul carrion bird that hovered above my little ones!"

At the moment, Tik-atl had no clue to the wrath of the princess who
stood before him quivering with anger.  A wounded tigress, there was
menace only in the words which she flung at him.  Her grey eyes were
the colour of polished steel, hard and deadly.

Without, he heard the merry laughter of children who played in the sun.
His mind saw the village of the Haidas, lithe brown mothers nursing
their babes by the lodges, withered crones plaiting baskets in the
shade of the great firs.  It was a long way to them.

He faced Auria across the water that held their images--the white,
proud face of the priestess and the bronzed, scarred countenance of
himself, with neck muscles swollen, the veins on his forehead throbbing
as he pitted his will against that of his opponent.  For a space there
was complete silence.  Auria could hear the muffled beating of her own
heart.

Then a smile, sinister and triumphant, curved the lips of the shaman.

"I will go back to my people.  You are powerless to stay my will!
Ugh!..."

Tik-atl raised his hand in a threatening gesture.  "I was a fool to
fear the might of a squaw whose face is as soft as snow."

Desperately Auria strove to call aloud.  The eyes of the Haida held her
as a helpless bird in their toils.  The great darkness which she had
experienced when she first saw him was before her again, about her as
an impenetrable wall--a Power that pressed in upon her, paralysing
her....  She heard the voice of Tik-atl receding, rising and falling
like a tempest in a forest far above her upon some inaccessible height.

"I go, but I will return.  The great white queen shall go as a squaw to
our villages.  The tribes of the South will be a memory.  Ashes will
mark the place where their shrines were built to a Sun which has set."

Iala, the little maiden, venturing to peer into the great council-house
when the guards were not looking, saw her mistress lying upon the steps
of the sanctuary.  With a cry she ran to her side.  In answer to her
caresses, Auria opened her eyes.  There were very human tears in
them--a woman's tears.  The Priestess of the Sun had been conquered by
the woman who loved as the daughters of men.

"Take me in, Iala--into my own place.  I am tired.  No ... no
questions, little one.  I will not see Na-tatl."




CHAPTER XVIII

THE GATHERING OF THE WOLVES

Through the blue haze of smoke in the great council-house of the
Haidas, the faces of the warriors shone like bronze idols ranged in
rows in an Oriental bazaar.  Seated in tiers about the long hall, they
alternately beat upon their deerhide drums and howled together like
were-wolves driving through a storm in some lone mountain pass.  Down
the centre of the chamber fires of fir-knots crackled and blazed,
while, about them, the squaws wove in and out in the mazes of a dance
that seemed a repression rather than an expression of the savage joy
that filled their hearts.  Bodies swayed, the black locks strewn with
swans-down glittered in the ruddy light, but hands and feet moved
slowly and rhythmically as if restrained from an abandonment that
would, if released, have torn flesh and limb.  Occasionally a woman
would fall, her form would stiffen, foam would gather about her rigid
lips and then the men would carry her out of the lodge to recover in
the cool air blowing up from the sea.

Without, the stars were shining in the patches of blue sky between the
tops of the Douglas firs and, through the dim aisles of the forest, a
light breeze stirred the tangled growth of salal and fern.  The murmur
of the surf meant that the sea, though hidden by the timber, was not
far away.  Peace reigned without the council-house, but within there
was a gathering storm of war that would carry desolation to far-away
places.  That day had marked the return to the village of Tik-atl, the
despot of the North.

Meanwhile, into the bay below the encampment a lone canoe was making
its way, bearing Keet-sa-o and Master Anson.  Early in the morning of
that day they had stocked their boat with bread made from the sweet
roots of clover and fritillary, with candle-fish oil and dried salmon,
and had set out to their favourite fishing-grounds.  The weather had
been favourable for their sport, so that they had been unwilling to
return until the twilight warned them that time was passing.  It was
long after nightfall ere they had sighted the fires of the lodges as
they rounded the headlands enclosing the Haida harbour.

In the bottom of the canoe a shining pile of flounders and rock cod
slid backwards and forwards as their little craft breasted the waters.
Keet-sa-o was paddling, her slim, young body swinging easily as her
blade cut its shining way through the stars reflected in the tide which
was bearing them shoreward.  Master Richard, seated in the stern of the
canoe, was ostensibly steering but in reality was more engrossed in
watching the lithe figure of the girl before him.

As the boat drew within hearing distance of the beach, the throbbing of
drums and the intermittent yelling from savage throats arrested their
attention.  Keet-sa-o ceased paddling.

"What is it, girl?"

She did not answer immediately but leaned forward listening intently,
her hands clasping the paddle which lay across the gunwales.  Anson was
startled by the sudden vigour with which the maiden raised the blade
and drove the craft violently forward.

"It is war--a big war!  Let us seek the shadows by the shore.  My
father is not here.  They dare not hold councils without him.  I must
know."

The man had little opportunity for questions as the canoe was impelled
towards the beach by the swift, sure strokes of the girl.

They landed some distance from the shingle where the Haida fleet lay at
rest.  Their boat was drawn up and left beneath the overshadowing
branches of a cypress whose lace-like fronds formed an effectual
screen.  Keet-sa-o intimated that it would be wiser for her to go
forward alone.  She would reconnoitre and, having learned the reason
for the sudden summons to war, would return to him with the news.

Across the shoulder of the neighbouring cliffs the moon was rising, a
silvery shield gleaming behind the black outlines of the fir-trees.
Its radiance cast a shimmering path of light through the darkness
veiling the waters of the bay.  The silence, unbroken save by the
gentle lapping of the waves about the roots of the cedar which
projected beyond the tide-mark, was oppressive.  The war drums in the
village had ceased for the moment.  Anson was consumed by loneliness.
The presence of the girl during the day had prevented him from dwelling
upon his own problem.  His thoughts were all with Auria now.  Could
this rising of the Northern tribes bode aught of danger to her?  Had he
not deserted her, leaving her to the mercy of the enemies of the Salish?

There was little opportunity to think clearly.  The forest was
thrilling with the weird, wolf-like howling of the Haida braves.  The
roar of the deerhide drums rose and fell like approaching thunder.  The
man rose and drew his sword as he marked an unwonted motion of the
dense shrubbery on the bank above his hiding-place.  Keet-sa-o dropped
lightly upon the sand at his side.

Eagerly he grasped the meaning of the swift sibilants of the Indian
tongue.  The girl was trembling with excitement, breathless from her
haste.

"My father has returned.  It is a great--a very great war.  All of the
islands are here.  The Salish are to be wiped out, women, children ...
all!  Upon her own altar, dyed with the blood of her own people, the
white priestess will be slain.  He has sworn it.  The Great Ones of the
earth and water have sworn it shall be."

Keet-sa-o winced with pain as Anson grasped her fiercely by the arm.
Her woman-heart did not ask why the pain was sweet to her.  His
gentleness hitherto had drawn her at times to wonder if the warrior was
in him.  Her primitive soul rejoiced that here was a strong man who
could crush and rend if need be.

"Keet-sa-o, listen!  It shall not be.  My gods are stronger than the
devils of your father.  You must help me.  The white priestess is a
friend of all peoples ... yours, too.  She is beautiful and good.  We
must stop this madness!"

The Haida stood before him with bended head.  Was she not his to do
with as he willed?  Yet, why did he want, first of all, to save the
white woman?  Ah--he was white, of the race of the Sun!  But then, too,
he had said that she was beautiful.  A quick pang of jealousy stabbed
her.  If he went away through the treacherous waters to the land of the
golden-haired princess, would he come back to her?  The old, eternal
instinct of her sex prompted her reply.

"Can the hand of a woman stay the wrath of the storm?  Can one warrior
prevail over hundreds?  Not to-night must you seek my father.  Wait.
When he has slept, he may hear other counsel."

"Wait ... wait?  When all that is dear to me in life is in danger?
Nay, God forgive me not, if my sword is sheathed in this hour!"

The agony in his voice whipped her like a lash.  But within her a
sullen indomitable storm was gathering.  She would not part with him.
The white priestess, the shadowy power that would drag him from her
side, was hated at that moment with all the savagery of her untutored
heart.  Her words were calm.  Her slight form was tense--unmoved by the
violence of the man who stood over her.

"I know my people.  If you would act wisely, wait.  They would kill you
to-night.  To-morrow you may have a chance to see my father alone."

The hellish din above them in the village redoubled its volume.  The
great wolves of the Northern forests tearing their quarry with
slavering jaws could sound no more of pitiless blood-lust than the
throats of the Ravens who screamed in their longing to rend the flesh
of their enemies.  The dim forest rocked tremblingly before the impact
of their fury.  The darkness was palpitant with repressed hatred and
omen of impending horrors.

Anson leaned feebly upon the gnarled roots of the tree above him.

"Yes, you know them.  You may be right.  Lead me to my lodge."

Keet-sa-o turned and, climbing the precipitous bank, pushed her way
through fern and salal until they emerged into a well-beaten trail.
Silently they wound their way among the firs until they came to the
edge of the clearing where lay the houses of the village.  Master
Anson's lodge was near and the surrounding spaces deserted.  Keet-sa-o
left him, stealing quietly through the shadows cast by the rude wall of
hewn timber, until she gained the shelter of her own dwelling.
Apparently everyone in the place was about the council-house or part of
the throng within it.

A couch covered with untanned deerhides stood in the room, where the
Haida maiden paused for an instant listening to the frenzied yells of
the braves who circled the fires where Tik-atl presided.  For a moment
only she waited, then cast herself down upon the bed, closing her ears
with her hands.  Her body was shaken by a passionate sobbing, tearless
and terrible to hear.  Her instinct, primitive but certain, told her
that her world had suddenly been shattered.  She had lived in the
present, deliberately barring out all disturbing dreams.  Now, the
truth had come home to her that she was an alien in the realm where her
lord and master moved and had his being.  His one thought had been for
the safety of the white priestess.  For the woman of his race he would
risk life and dare the tortures that were worse than death.  What
manner of woman was this pale-faced sorceress who had power to wring
Keet-sa-o's heart with a pain greater than she had ever known?

Without, the wild din of the orgy in the council-house had ceased, but
when she raised her head to listen she could hear a voice which she
knew to be her father's.  He was a famous orator.  She could not hear
the words, but the rising and falling inflections of his powerful tones
came to her clearly through the silence.  She could picture the throng
of glittering eyes drawn together by his eloquence unto one keen shaft
to smite and slay.

Softly the Haida girl rose and stole out into the night.  She would
hear more of the white witch, Auria.  This, too, was her battle.  The
yellow stars above the dark firs were like the eyes of the wild things
that watched her from the thickets when she wandered alone in the
forest.  They were curious but unkind.  They, also, were not of her
world, but of kin to the Sun whose child she had loved too well.

Keet-sa-o moved like a shadow on noiseless feet to the back of the
house where the tribesmen were assembled.  Here a small cedar-tree
leaned against the wall of the building.  Under its friendly branches
she could remain unseen and yet, through the spaces between the big
timbers of the wall, she could see the interior of the place.  At first
the smoke from the fires blurred her vision, but a momentary opening of
the great door at the front of the lodge allowed a draught of air to
clear the haze away.  In serried rows, the fierce countenances of the
Northern warriors, hideous in their paint and trappings of war, were
ranged about the sides of the room.  The fires gleamed upon their
copper-coloured skin like sunlight on polished metal.  Their eyes, red
and baleful, were all bent upon Tik-atl who addressed them from the
centre of the hall.

The great magician was arrayed in the full ceremonial robes of his
office.  A painted head-dress of spruce-root, finely woven, covered his
thick, coarse hair.  His arms and body were bare but for a collar of
baleen and an apron of leather which hung from his waist.  From the
necklace were suspended puffin bills and grizzly-bear claws which
rattled as he swayed from side to side, while the apron, red and black,
bore the design of the sea-bear.  In his right hand he held a long
probe of pointed bone which, from time to time, he raised and lowered
to emphasise the periods in his oration.  His deep voice, chanting his
phrases, was like a storm wind gathering in the mountains.  He was
speaking now of the white priestess.  Keet-sa-o bent forward in her
eagerness to hear.

"Glittering like the great King Salmon, smooth, shining as the Sun, is
this serpent of the Salish who has bewitched our warriors.  Idle they
sit, like women weaving baskets in the shade, while her guile poisons
the air and the waters.  Her eyes, coloured like the waves that carry
our war canoes, are pale because of long hating and desire to despoil
our strength.  Her tongue is subtle, dripping with sweetness like the
honeycombs, and before it have many warriors stood entranced, but not
I, your chief and Son of the Raven, who shelters his people with wide,
almighty wings.  Alone, I dared her might.  Alone, unharmed, I return
to you.  The voices of the Sea and the Air troubled me day and night
until I should carry their command to you--that you slay this foul
snake that nurses the Salish until their arms are strong enough to make
our lodges desolate."

Curses multiform and various were outlined as the fate of those who
remained behind while the tribes of the North swept down upon their
ancient enemies to destroy and pillage.  The vehemence of Tik-atl's
hatred stirred even the grim stolidity of the Haidas, who glared like
famished wolves as he spoke of the spoiling of the Southerners.

Keet-sa-o shuddered.  Once she had heard an eagle scream before
plunging its talons into the back of a wounded deer which had dragged
itself away to die.  Her father's closing sentences were fraught with
the same pitiless note of triumph.  She crouched low in the darkness
beside the wall while the Haidas filed out to rest before resuming
their warlike preparations.

In her heart there was no sorrow for the Daughter of the Sun.  If the
witch were dead, her warrior might forget and turn to the arms that
hungered for him, that would hold him fiercely and tenderly as they had
often done in bashful dreams.  A golden star he might be, but she would
draw him to earth into her world and hold him fast forever.  It was her
own pain that deafened her ears to approaching footsteps.  When she
rose from her cramped position by the wall, she faced the angry eyes of
the magician.  As a bird before a serpent, she awaited the fate which
she saw in his gleaming eyes.

"Ha ... another of the serpent breed!  A squaw who slinks like a fox in
the shadows.  Where is the white devil?  Did he send you here?  Speak!"

The girl's instinct was to shield her lover.

"Nay, I did not know that you had returned, O Mighty One.  I feared
that, in your absence, some evil was afoot.  Should not the daughter
think for the father when he is far away?"

Something in her voice and manner aroused suspicion in Tik-atl.  He
seized the girl by the throat and, bending her backward in his powerful
grasp, he hissed through clenched teeth:

"You lie!"

He held her until her body grew suddenly limp in his hands and, like a
crumpled brown leaf, she slid gently to the ground.  The shaman bent
over her.  He felt her heart, but there was no noticeable motion there.
She had apparently ceased to breathe.  His evil brain quickly
determined that if she were dead no blame would be laid at his door.
It would mean a more horrible death for the white man who had been her
companion during the day.  In the morning the Haidas would find the
body.  Meantime, he would secure the person of Anson who was doubtless
awaiting Keet-sa-o in his lodge.  In the demon soul of him there was no
compassion for the daughter of his body whom he left lying where she
had fallen under his hands.

Acting under orders from Tik-atl, the Haidas searched the lodge of the
white man.  They found it empty.  Unable to sleep because of the uproar
in the council-house, Anson had returned to the beach to gather up the
utensils and gear which he had left in his canoe.  The emissaries of
the shaman next visited the house of Keet-sa-o, where they found the
old crone whom the girl claimed as her former mother.  She explained to
them the absence of the shaman's daughter by telling them that she had
gone with the white man to fish and had not returned.  It was then
determined to await the return of the absent ones.  Torture of the
follower of the white priestess would be an interesting diversion for
the coming day.

When Keet-sa-o opened her eyes, she saw only the stars that had seemed
to her like eyes that watched her without feeling, uncompassionate and
remote.  Her body was racked by pains shooting through it from the base
of her skull where the terrible clutch of her father had wrenched bone
and muscle.  Dew lay upon the moss beside her and, drenching her hands
in its coolness, she drew them across her forehead and face.  All was
quiet in the village now.  The stirring of a night bird in the branches
of the cedar above her, and her own heart, beating irregularly and
loudly, were the sole sounds which broke the stillness.  She grasped
the grass roots closely as a child might cling to a mother's breast and
lay without moving while her bewildered mind tried to comprehend the
thing that had come to her.

She had no real affection for Tik-atl, but had been bound to him by the
instinctive tie of blood.  She had not known him as a father.  But
through her fear of him she had longed, at times, for a kindness which
had been denied to her.  Now, he had with his own hands irretrievably
broken the slight thread that might have drawn her to him.  Her savage
blood called only for revenge.  She would thwart him, break him, if at
the cost of her own life.  In her extremity her mind reverted to the
only human being from whom she had ever received affection--to him whom
her primitive soul worshipped as a star in a heaven beyond her ken.
Even her jealousy of Auria, the sorceress, was submerged by the desire
to find and save the white man and, through him, to wreak vengeance
upon her father.

By a supreme effort of her will the girl staggered to her feet.
Blindly, because of her pain and yet with native stealth and caution,
she made her way towards Anson's lodge.  He had not yet returned.
Immediately Keet-sa-o concluded that he had betaken himself to the
sea--had escaped in a mad attempt to reach the South before the Haidas.
Her strength had partially returned now and she glided swiftly through
the spaces between the lodges where the Indians were sleeping heavily
after their emotional debauch.  Seeking the trail to the beach where
they had left their canoe, she rushed wildly through the dense
undergrowth.  Her breath came quickly.  Pain--her very self was
forgotten in her despair.  Unnoticed, the wire-like branches of the
vine maple slashed her face until the blood sprang to the surface and
trickled down her cheeks.  The sharp thorns of the devil club impaled
her fingers as she grasped for support in the surrounding darkness.  It
was as if a thousand unseen hands were reaching in to impede her haste.

Master Anson stood warily, his arms filled with nets and fishing-gear,
as the girl half scrambled and half fell through the thick foliage to
his feet.  He had felt that it could only be Keet-sa-o who would come
without caution.  Nevertheless, he was on guard as became a man
surrounded by enemies.

She knelt beside him, her arms clasping his knees.  As she looked up at
him, the moon emerging from behind a cloud lighted her face streaked
with blood and her dishevelled hair.  A wild and pitiful figure she was
and yet one to make a man's heart beat fast, for her beauty was out of
the ordinary--a lure which had often stirred the primal deeps in the
soul of the Englishman.  Gently he laid his hands upon her shoulders
and drew her blanket about her, hiding the slim, brown body which was
trembling like that of a frightened bird.

"Why have you come, Keet-sa-o?  I had thought you were sleeping.  What
has happened?  Your face is bleeding and your hands ... why ... what
have they done to you?"

Be it to Master Anson's credit that, in the days which followed, he
bowed his head silently at the memory of that strange revelation of the
woman heart.  For we have not come so very far from the forest as yet,
and the great primitive man and woman lies very close to the surface
veneer of our civilised selves.  Its power often rebukes our littleness
of soul.

"I know nothing--nothing, O great white chief, except that I would be
your slave!  Beat me, if you will; drive me from you into the forest
and the lonely mountain places.  I will return to you.  No mother or
father or kinsman in the world have I but you--only you.  Take me.  I
am yours.  We will go to your people.  Keet-sa-o will guide you over
the waters.  Her hand is strong and she knows the ways of the sea and
the wind.  Together we will help the white queen."


Before the dawn had silvered the firs of Masset Inlet, a long Haida
canoe stole softly along shore and out upon the waste of treacherous
waters that lay to southward.  Long was the road across the
white-crested waves and fraught with dangers darker than clouds and
storm, but Love was strong to save and to destroy.




CHAPTER XIX

BELEAGUERED

Summer, at its height, is a mellow season on the Pacific Coast.  The
glare and hardness of more tropic skies is lacking there.  The humidity
of the air means softer colourings and more delicate tintings of sea
and mountain in the dawns and sunsets of the pleasant Arcadian days
which blend imperceptibly into the rainy months of winter.

However, during late July and August the fir-clad slopes are dry, their
carpeting of resinous needles and the brown tangle of last year's
bracken forming a dangerous setting for forest fires which rage
fiercely in the dense timber until extinguished by the autumn rains.
With good reason the natives have always feared these visitations of
flame which desolate their villages and lay bare their hunting-grounds.

Now a cordon of blazing forest surrounded the citadel of the Salish.
The great trees were Titan torches lighting the nights with lurid
terrors and veiling the days with an impenetrable pall of acrid,
stifling smoke.  To add to the impending destruction by fire there was
the red flame of war which crept hourly closer to their lodges by the
sea.  The bloody annals of their tribe bespoke the pitiless nature of
the enemy at their gates.  The Haidas of the North, hated and feared,
in numbers never seen before, were in undisputed possession of their
shores, cutting off all access to the waters and the salmon grounds
whence came their food.  Northern canoes, lean and sinister as
marauding Wolves, haunted creek and bay, blockading their village to
seaward as surely as the great fire formed their ring-pass-not by land.

In their dire extremity, the peaceful Salish would have utterly
despaired but for the faith which centred in the might of their beloved
queen and priestess, Auria.  Daughter of the Sun, all-powerful source
of life, she would triumph over the clouds that veiled her sanctuary.
Into her council-house, by day and night, the tribe crowded to hear
from her lips the comfort and assurance denied elsewhere.  At all
times, the women and children were near her.  The men came when their
duties of fire-fighting and defence permitted.

On the evening of a day late in the month of August, a wind in the
upper air about the heights where the citadel lay had cleared away some
of the smoke.  The lower slopes and valleys were hidden by blue-grey
clouds, thick and opaque, but over the mountain-tops the sun was seen
blood-red through the haze.  It seemed, indeed, a god of war which
glistened in crimson panoply, pulsing with lambent flame, over the rim
of the western hills.

At Auria's command, a huge altar had been erected in the space before
her lodge.  The heat was too oppressive to permit of holding her
ceremonials entirely within-doors.  Upon the top of the altar, which
was composed of a flat rock supported upon pillars of wood and footed
with stone, fire was smouldering, filling the air with fragrance strong
enough to overpower the tang of the forest's smoke.  Upon the steps of
the structure, facing the sun, Auria was standing, while below her the
assembled tribes knelt in silent adoration.

The priestess was indeed an object to call forth the worship of her
people.  A light veil lay upon her head and was draped over her
shoulders.  This was bound about her forehead by a simple band of cloth
of gold which supported the jewelled emblem of the twin serpents.  A
white robe, flowing in graceful lines to her feet, was girdled at the
waist by a belt of Indian manufacture, soft and pliant cloth woven from
the inner bark of the cypress.  Auria was not above average height, but
her snowy-white vesture caused her to appear tall, while the dignity of
her carriage added to the impression that she was of a superior race.
To the Indians she was golden, ethereal, an embodied ray of the Sun
whom they worshipped.

She was standing now, with outstretched arms, intoning in a low vibrant
voice an invocation to the Sun-god before he disappeared below the
horizon.  As her accents flowed in the music of a tongue unknown to the
Salish, the worshippers before her swayed their bodies rhythmically in
time to the cadence of her words.  A subtle bond seemed to exist
between the priestess and her auditors.  It was as if they breathed in
unison, were one entity gathering, from some unseen source, power which
was theirs to use or to store away until it was needed for life's
purposes.

Then, without warning, came a rude interruption of the ceremony.  A
warrior dashed from the smoke-filled aisles of the forest skirting the
village.  His clothing was torn, his face bleeding and blackened.  He
shouted as he ran through the ranks of the assembled devotees.

"The Haida!  The Haida!  They are coming up the creek-beds--in the
water!  To arms--everyone!"

Confusion followed.  Auria assisted in gathering together the children
and older women and, taking them into her own dwelling, endeavoured to
allay their terror.  The others, armed with various weapons, hastened
with the messenger to defend the pass up which the enemy was
approaching.  Although the fires were raging in the timber, the rocky
bed of a mountain stream which descended precipitously to the sea near
the village formed a narrow pathway unscathed by flame.  Up this defile
the Northern tribesmen were fighting their way to the citadel.

In her retreat, Auria was kept advised of the progress of the conflict
by runners who from time to time brought her news.  The Haidas were
labouring under a disadvantage in the narrow pass, from the sides of
which the Salish could shower them with arrows and missiles, but she
well knew the renowned fighting qualities of her foes.  Their
blood-lust was ravenous and their endurance that of the treacherous
Northern reefs which spawned them.  The sun set beyond the mountain
rims.  The night was illumined by the leaping flames from a thousand
blazing tree-tops, but still the struggle continued with unabated fury.
The wounded were borne to the council-house where Auria directed the
binding and dressing of their injuries.  Among the groans of the fallen
and wailings of those who mourned, she moved calmly--a very human
helper--whose touch was healing and whose face promised hope and
victory.

Even when a messenger, with trembling lips, said, "A little while ...
they are too many ... we cannot do more!" the woman did not falter.
She stopped to dress the runner's wounds before retiring to her inner
chamber.  There, out of sight of her broken people, she knelt and
prayed.  To the Sun-god?  Nay, but for the restoration of the strong
arm of Master Anson, for the brave English heart that had dared the
terrors of Anian in a mad attempt to win through to life and love.  In
the weary months since he had disappeared, Auria had probed the secrets
of her soul, and knew that, bound as she was to the service of unseen
powers, at times she would have forsworn heaven for a touch of his hand
upon her own.  It seemed that fate had forever removed him from her
life.  Yet, if he lived, how, in this hour, would his counsel and sword
have been of aid to deliver her people from their oppressors?

Blent with her desire which was entirely human was a certain disquiet,
also womanly and not pertaining to her priestly office.  The entry of
another into his life had never occurred to her except as a dream.
From the adytum of her impersonal self she could serenely contemplate
his happiness with a woman more of his own world--in all sincerity, she
had often prayed that this might come to him in due time.  However,
when faced with the reality, she discovered that the primitive feminine
instinct of possession was existent in herself.  Her care for Anson's
happiness was not maternal, but of a different order.  The mating love
cannot contemplate, without suffering, the transference of its object
into another universe.  Its end and justification is union.  The
daughter of Tik-atl was beautiful.  Was she, Auria, less desirable than
this untutored maiden of the wilderness?  Yet in her heart she did not
blame the man.  She had made no effort to retain his affections.  Now
that the woman was dominant in her once more, she knew that if he
turned to her she would willingly forgive and forget.

Recalling her battle with the powers of darkness incarnate in the great
Haida magician, she realised that he had defeated her because of her
love for Anson.  A very human jealousy had overpowered her will and
unsteadied the mind that was usually her servant.  To her own surprise,
she found that she rather gloried in the fact that she had discovered a
force greater than herself--a love that could sweep away the
foundations of her life and abandon her to the perils of the unknown.
A new strength, over-flowing, fluctuant, exuberant, coursed through her
being with a strange quality which could transfigure and transmute
ordinary, every-day life into an importance and high value which she
thought pertained only to spiritual things.

Her fingers caressed the glowing jewel of the Incas which lay upon her
bosom, while her thoughts were intent upon the present.

In this, her hour of peril, there was no vestige of human assurance
that she could win through to victory.  Perforce she turned inward to
that world of the unseen which she had made her own.

Sitting down, she placed before her a lighted lamp.  With hands folded
upon her lap, she gazed steadily at the flame until her eyes grew
fixed, while her body ached with the effort to maintain its rigidity.
The cries in the room without swirled into a unison of sound that beat
upon her inner ear like the far-off surges on a distant shore.
Darkness and silence followed, and then ... the Light!  The body
remained inert, motionless, dead, while the soul, released, sought
counsel of the gods.

Iala, her maid, tending a wounded Salish brave, heard Auria's voice
calling to her from the entrance to the inner chamber.  Turning, she
saw her mistress standing upon the threshold of her room, a wraith-like
figure holding a burned-out candle in her hand.  The face of the
priestess was more colourless than her raiment, which bore in places
ghastly red stains from the blood of her warriors.

"Thy will, O queen, is mine!  Thy people perish!  What can one maiden
do?"

With widening eyes of wonder the girl watched the lips of the
priestess, as they strove to form the words which came from within.

"Iala!  Iala!  Our people are saved if there be one man who, for the
love of all, will lay himself upon the altar!"




CHAPTER XX

THE KINGDOM OF THE SUN

While Auria sought counsel from her gods, the battle, bloody and
terrible in its savagery, continued between the Northern warriors and
their beleaguered enemies.  In the rocky ravine, devoid of vegetation
or trees, which formed a pass through the flaming forest, the Haidas,
headed by the ferocious Tsik-an, struggled to reach the citadel of the
Salish.  The precipitous sides of the defile forced them to remain in
the bed of the stream.  Wading in the brown pools, dodging from boulder
to boulder which afforded them partial shelter, they fought their way
upward through the showers of arrows and the avalanches of rocks and
earth poured upon them by the Salish forces.  On the rim of the canyon,
the blazing trees, from which flames shot upward as from gigantic
torches, partly lighted the depths below and, at the same time, threw
portions of it into denser shadow.  Pausing in the darkness, dashing
through the spaces red-lit by the fires, the Northern braves answered
the enemy's assaults with blood-curdling yells and derisive taunts.  No
Salish who appeared for a moment escaped the unerring marksmanship of
the kin of the Raven.  Steadily the dark serpent of the Haida vanguard
wound its way up the mountain slope, writhing in increasing rage as it
neared its goal.

Tik-atl had remained upon the beach below, where, by the light of the
forest fire, he had spread his instruments of magic.  By incantations
and the intricacies of his black art, he sought to bring the demons of
sea and air to the aid of his kinsmen.  Now he was facing the gleaming
stretches of the bay where the ruddy reflection from the hillside
mingled with the black waters.  Erect, tense, his will concentrated in
a focal point of terrific power, he was bending all of his being to his
dark task.

It was while thus engaged that his eye, trained to note the slightest
movement in his natural surroundings, suddenly sighted the dark form of
a canoe some distance from the shore.  For an instant the strange craft
appeared in the light, as a burning tree, on the slopes above him, shot
its flames skyward before its final fall.  Then it was submerged in the
surrounding darkness.  The magician turned instantly to where a
camp-fire smouldered near him and scattered the brands, extinguishing
them in the edge of the surf at his feet.  Silently he glided into the
shrubbery overhanging the bank which fringed the beach.  Here a border
of deep shade separated the illumined shingle from the burning timber.

Presently, his wisdom was rewarded by another glimpse of the
approaching canoe.  It was well within the light now, heading straight
for the landing-place where the Haida war fleet was lying.  As its
long, slim shape rose and fell upon the waves, the shaman saw that
there were two occupants.  The taller figure in the centre of the
vessel was propelling it swiftly forward while, in the stern, one who
appeared to be a boy directed its course with skilful care.  In a very
few moments thereafter, the strangers landed among the war canoes at a
distance but little removed from Tik-atl's hiding-place.  The man
sprang first to the shore and, as he faced the light while dragging his
canoe up the shingle, the Haida, to his amazement, recognised the
Englishman, Anson.  He had long ere this concluded that the white man
had rejoined his Salish friends, or had perished, more probably, in the
treacherous straits of the Northern coast.  On the journey to the
South, the Haidas had failed to find any traces of the fleeing ones,
although, as time permitted, they had searched with all possible
thoroughness.

Rage and a ferocious joy filled the heart of Tik-atl.  His gods were
indeed kind to him.  At the moment when his warriors were dragging the
white witch from her lair, they had delivered the greatest of her
chieftains into his hands.  Here, too, was the daughter who had
betrayed him.  For, despite her garb, he had recognised that Anson's
companion was Keet-sa-o, whom he had left stricken in the shadow of his
council-house.  He weighed a heavy stone war-club caressingly in his
hands.

While Keet-sa-o began to remove portions of the meagre cargo from the
canoe, Master Richard moved among the enemy's fleet examining it
closely.  His steps brought him gradually nearer to the spot where the
shaman lay crouched like a panther ready to spring.  Having completed
her task, the girl endeavoured to pull their craft farther forward.
This was too much for her strength and she turned to call her
companion.  Her first impulse was to cry aloud.  Her Indian blood saved
her from this folly.  Behind Anson, who was stooping over one of the
Haida vessels, she saw the dark form of Tik-atl, who had glided
silently over the stones of the beach.  Keet-sa-o, her heart pounding
violently but her hand steady, seized a bow from the ground at her
feet.  An arrow sang through the air and the shaman with a hoarse,
guttural cry stood suddenly erect with his arms extended upwards.  His
face was hideous--a destroying demon's, distorted and evil, gnarled as
the roots of his native cedars.  An instant his giant body swayed, then
collapsed upon the shingle.

Master Anson stood helpless before the unnatural horror of what
followed.  The girl rushed forward to where her father lay in his
death-throes and, breaking off the arrow which had transfixed his body,
she struck him with it repeatedly, using its splintered end to gash his
face and bosom.  She sobbed hysterically while her hands plied their
terrible task.  Still moaning and crying, she flung away the weapon
and, turning to Richard, she flung herself at his feet, clasping his
knees in an ecstasy of emotion.  The man grasped her firmly by the
wrists and lifted her to her feet.  He shook her roughly.

"Keet-sa-o, be quiet!  Be quiet, I say!"

"He is a devil--a devil," panted Keet-sa-o.  "He will come alive again!"

Gently Anson drew the frenzied girl away from the fallen magician.

"God knoweth, he was evil enow; but, child, there are other tasks to
our hand.  Methinks we are sore needed elsewhere.  But how to win
through, I know not!"

He paused, listening intently.  Down from the heights above him, on a
veering wind, was blown the faint sound of the yelling of the
wolf-packs of the Haidas.  He shuddered but his eyes lighted.

"They have gone, I doubt not, by way of the stream.  We too will
follow.  It is the only path free from the flames."

At Anson's bidding, Keet-sa-o gathered a great store of arrows, both
their own and some from the canoes, and, hastily skirting the shore,
they entered the pass of the creek bed leading to the plateau above
them.  As they went, the air, hot as from a furnace by reason of the
great fires, was suddenly cleft by a breeze that swept in from the sea.
Faint, but unmistakable, a peal of distant thunder made them pause.

"God is with us," muttered Master Richard.  "May He send His rains
speedily!"

In a short space of time they were upon the heels of the enemy.  The
ascent through the ravine had been made without thought of the
roughness of the path.  They had torn through the thickets and had
plunged recklessly forward until within bowshot of the rear of the
Haidas.  The uncertainty of the light in the canyon favoured their
movements.  As soon as they had reached a place where they might be
observed, they took their cue from the fighting-men, slipping from rock
to rock and discharging occasional arrows at the heights.  Gradually
they made their way among the besieging forces until they were in the
front of the battle, where their progress was fraught with danger from
the Salish who were launching their volleys at every moving shadow in
the pass.  Together they were now lying in the shelter of a fallen
cedar which bridged the stream at this point.  The defile was
exceedingly narrow here, so that a tree precipitated from above had
broken in two.  The lower half of it lay at right angles across the
stream.  The other portion, heavy with foliage, leaned against the
steep wall of the ravine.  Above the conical top of the fallen fir-tree
the cliff shelved backwards less vertically, making it possible for a
man, if unmolested, to scale the height.  Evidently this very thing had
been attempted in the fight, for the bodies of two Haida warriors lay
in the shallow water at their feet.

Hurriedly Master Anson disclosed a desperate plan to Keet-sa-o.  Lying
close to the tree trunk which stood erect, they climbed cautiously
towards its summit.  It was raining heavily now and the pass was
enshadowed, except when a flare from a burning snag lit the gloom.
Reaching the topmost branches, Richard boldly exposed himself, shouting
as he did so in the Salish tongue.  At the same time he pulled
Keet-sa-o up beside him and dashed forward up the declivity before
them.  The eyes of the Haida wolves were upon them, however.  Their
yelling ceased momentarily.  Then, as the light revealed the trunks and
hose of Master Anson and the sword which hung from his side, a howl of
rage went up through the darkness below.  A flight of arrows fell about
the struggling forms of the climbers.  Richard turned at a quick cry
from Keet-sa-o.  A shaft had grazed her shoulder, drawing blood.
Frantically she motioned to him to go on.  In another instant, they
were over the brow of the cliff and standing in a group of the Salish
who had risen from behind rocks and bushes to welcome their white chief.

In the council-house, Iala still knelt at the feet of Auria who stood,
the words of her oracle fresh upon her lips.  The eyes of the
priestess, filled by the shadows of the world where our light is
darkness, hardly took note of the little maiden whose love and
adoration was poured out before her.

"Where--ah, where shall such an one be found?  The Salish fight only
when forced to defend their lives.  They are a quiet people who do not
love death.  They are..."

Iala's words were interrupted by a startled exclamation from her
mistress.  The hands of the princess were clasped tightly together
above her heart, while she gazed with slowly widening eyes towards the
great entrance to the hall.  The maiden turned and saw Master Richard
who had entered quietly.  He was leaning for support against the carven
lintel of the doorway, silently gazing at Auria who stood as if
suddenly turned to stone.

Remnants only of his former finery were left.  His velvet trunks and
doublet still hung together, smirched and patched in divers places, but
his hose had been supplemented by leggings and buskins of deerhide,
while from his leathern belt was still suspended his trusty sword of
English steel.  Matted locks and a beard partially concealed the finely
chiselled features and the dauntless blue eyes which looked forward
always in search of great adventures.  Bewildered by strange fates
these eyes might be, but the light in them did not quail before the
terror of the unknown.

Gracefully, with the ease of the courtier which he was, the man moved
forward, picking his way gently among the wounded who lay upon the
floor.  Still speechless, Auria mechanically extended her hand to him
as he stood before her, starting and withdrawing it quickly when he
raised it to his lips.  The past closed about her as a kindly arm when
she heard his familiar tones:

"Yes, Auria, by God's grace, it is I ... and none other."

Mate and mother stormed within her for utterance.  The priestess was
caught, bound, whirled away into some remote region of her being while
the woman cried inwardly, "My love--my love!"  Outwardly, she retained
her serenity, the ineffable dignity which had awed and baffled his
ardour in days long past.

"I do not ask whence nor how you have come.  You are here in the dark
hour when my people are perishing.  Ah, Master Richard, if only that
sword had been here ... when it was needed.  It is too late, I fear."

Richard smiled.

"Too late ... can that be?  The battle is not ended."

"You do not know, then?  Our warriors are few.  The Haida is in force.
We are outnumbered ten to one and it is only a question of hours now.
No human help can save my people--not even your arm, Master Richard."

The man spoke quickly and eagerly, "Are you so sure of this, Auria?"

"I am certain.  If we could have kept them to the pass, there was hope.
But, when the fires are out in the forest, they will descend upon us
like wolves.  Our food has been cut off for many days, our warriors
weakened by hunger and watching.  Those left alive are few in numbers,
weary and with little heart to resist a doom which they know is
certain."

She turned towards the door of her chamber.  "Yet, the gods have
spoken.  A way remains.  You may find a man among them who is great
enough.  Who knows?"

With bowed head and dejected mien, Master Anson followed her into her
sanctuary.  It was his first entrance there, but he was too perturbed
to marvel that it had come to pass.

Once within, Auria closed the door behind them.  The walls were thick.
The moans of the wounded without were not audible.  They might have
been in a world leagues removed from the carnage and suffering about
them.  The room itself was without noteworthy adornment.  The only
furnishings were a couch, a few rugs and a table, upon which stood some
candles and a broken cross about which was twined a brazen serpent.
Anson glanced curiously at the strange crucifix but, in the next
instant, he had no eyes for anything but Auria.  In the dim light, she
was glowing with all the witchery which had held him captive from the
day when he had first seen her.  The white curve of her breast beneath
her clinging robe was shadowed by the hair of wondrous gold which had
been the web of illusion in which his heart had remained willingly a
prisoner.  Of the Sun she might well be, but she was also of the earth,
for he saw in her commingled the magic of its seasons of sowing and
reaping, cool radiance of April dawns and warmth of summer noons.

All of the man in him was for instant possession, an essay in which all
should be lost or won.  He stepped towards her.

"Auria!"

Her raised hand checked him.  "Nay.  We are here to take counsel for
the people--my children!  In my extremity I sought the Inner Light
which shines for all men.  There it was written that there was a way of
escape.  I said that you might help me to find a brave man among my
poor warriors."

"What is this way of which you speak?  Always riddles, my Auria?"

"If there be one who, by his own hand, will die that the others may
live, we will prevail.  The gods have spoken!"

The voice of the priestess was passionless and even, but carried
conviction beyond human reckoning.  He would as soon have doubted his
God.  In the ears of Master Anson, as he gazed upon the white, ethereal
beauty before him, there rang as the chime of a distant bell, "If he be
true and brave--if his love be great enough--he will find her in the
Kingdom of the Sun."  Kate-o'-the-Mill had said that.  The room, the
woman before him, seemed swaying dimly in waves of light which finally
obliterated them from sight, leaving only the prospect of a golden sea
which flowed beneath and about him, while his ears were filled by the
murmuring of a wind which flooded him with unutterable desire--the call
of the unending quest of what was sweet and precious beyond all life.
He heard his own voice saying:

"Why, Auria, it is simply done.  I am your man."

Was it merely illusion?  From out the radiance about him, white arms
drew him closely into their embrace.  Eyes more beautiful than any on
earth reflected the love and longing in his own soul.  Peace, beyond
any he had dreamed, possessed him utterly.

Auria stood before him with head bent and folded hands.  The
candlelight glinted softly in the folds of the brazen serpent on the
table beside her.  Not the Priestess of the Sun but the woman was
saying simply:

"Take me, Richard.  I am yours."

He knew, as the spirit in man knows, that all Life was One, the Reality
of which we are but the passing shadows.




CHAPTER XXI

THE ALTAR

"Greater love hath no man"--yet how few of the living or those called
dead have won through to this peace.  Over trackless wastes of space,
through red hells of peril and doom, in the strife of swirling atom or
starry galaxy, Life moves to this fulfilment of its being.  It is the
Law.  To withhold for the separate self is death.  And in the hour when
Master Anson, adventurer upon unknown seas, renounced life and love, he
found them in all their glorious perfection.

It was now past midnight.  The rain had ceased but the sky was still
obscured by clouds.  The darkness, in which the Salish with the last
grim effort of desperation sought to withstand their enemy, was
intense, oppressive and fraught with impending horror.  Like the echoes
wafted through the half-opened doors of some inferno in a world of
dream, the war-cries of the Haidas and the answering yells of their
opponents came up from the canyon, chilling the blood of the women who
watched and waited.  These, the squaws, and the children too young to
bear arms, were now gathered in the open space where the ceremonial
altar had been erected at Auria's command.  In groups, clinging to each
other, they stood.  All eyes were directed towards the entrance to the
lodge of their priestess.

Nor were their eyes the only ones which gazed in silent wonder.  In the
place of concealment which had sheltered him upon a previous occasion,
crouched behind a thick curtain of cedar boughs, Tsik-an lay like a
panther awaiting his prey.

Blackened snags upon which the red flames, unextinguished by the rain,
still flickered like serpents' tongues together with light from the
opened doorways of the smaller lodges illumined the scene, so that he
was able to perceive that some unusual event was impending.

Trusting to his knowledge of the formation of the country which he had
gained upon his previous visit, the Snake had dared the peril of fire
and the enemy's sentries in order to make certain of the strength of
the beleaguered garrison.  He had been baffled and enraged by the
unexpected ferocity of the Salish resistance, and suspected that their
forces had been augmented by warriors from surrounding villages or the
great island to westward.  Otherwise he could not account for their
prolonged endurance of famine, terror and siege.  Before leading the
Haidas to a final assault, he must be certain that victory and not
death would be their reward.  Now, having seen that only women and
children were here to oppose his designs, he still lingered.  The great
altar, piled with faggots in preparation for burning, the assembled
crowd of silent squaws, the tense air of expectancy--all held him,
although he was chafing to appease his lust for blood.

Presently the door leading through the totem before Auria's lodge swung
open and a flood of light therefrom made a pathway through shadows and
the more feeble beams from the village streets.  Into the radiance
there emerged the forms of eight women who bore between them a rude
litter covered with a white blanket.  An evil smile distorted the face
of the concealed Snake.  Doubtless some great Salish chief had bitten
the dust before the arrows of the Haidas.  His gloating was most
quickly submerged by a feeling of intense curiosity mingled with alarm.
Behind the pall-bearers moved two figures so majestic, so amazing to
the eyes of Tsik-an, that he involuntarily shrank back into the
sheltering darkness of his leafy screen.

Anson, the white chief, he had indeed seen before, but his lithe
figure, erect and commanding, now seemed to be surrounded with an
ineffable dignity which was more than human.  The Englishman's face,
always strange to the Indian, was, at this instant, a mystery.  A
conqueror was betokened by the proud lift of his head; a worshipper in
the presence of a beauty not of this earth shone in his eyes.

By the man's side moved one whom the Haida knew must be the priestess,
Daughter of the Sun.  Auria was clad in some soft, white material
which, after the manner of ancient Greece, left bare her arms and
shoulders.  Framed by the glory of her hair, her face was glowing as if
some hidden sun burned within her so that flesh became a translucent
veil.  The light flashed, as she walked, with a dazzling brilliance
from the jewelled serpent brooch upon her bosom.  The amulet of the
Peruvian king had achieved its destiny and, once again in the
possession of its rightful owner, had drawn together and held fast the
threads of fate.  Upon the highroads of eternity the lovers had met,
and the Law had been fulfilled.  Regally, wrapt in her dream, the
princess went with eyes oblivious to her surroundings.

Before the altar the procession halted.  The bearers of the litter
deposited it upon the ground and retired to mingle with the other women
who filled the square before the temple, while Auria and her companion
mounted the footing of one of the massive pillars supporting the great
rock which formed the top of the structure.  As they stood facing the
assembly, there was a pause so intense in its silence that breathing
was almost audible.  Then, loud in that momentary hush, there sounded
the eerie whine of an arrow, the twang of a bowstring released.  A
swaying movement of the crowd, a low shuddering cry as it swept
forward, followed, and Auria's white-robed figure bent above the
huddled form of Richard Anson which lay upon the turf before the rock
of sacrifice.

If invisible hands had halted them, the women could not have been more
effectually restrained than by the face of their priestess, as she
stood slowly erect.  Daughter of the Sun they had called her, but she,
who was dumb before them now, was lightning and the fury of the tempest
incarnate.  They quailed before the concentrated power in her eyes.
Her gaze was directed beyond them, over their heads, to the precipitous
hills which formed the farther wall of the pass in which her warriors
were making their last stand.

The Snake of the Haidas felt suddenly chilled as if unseen arms were
reaching from the gloom above and behind him--arms which were stronger,
more implacable than the hate in his own heart.  He was startled by a
sound that obliterated the war-cries in the canyon and the crackling of
the forest fire.  It had swelled now to the semblance of distant
thunder.  Seized by an inexplicable terror, he leaned forward, gazing
at the white priestess who still faced the east, rigid, motionless as a
statue.  He followed her glance and the bow which had sped the fatal
arrow dropped from his hand.  It seemed to him that the sparse forest
clothing the opposite wall of the war-stricken pass was moving, flowing
downward as water might glide over a mountain barrier which had held it
imprisoned.  A hollow rumbling, underlying sharper detonations, shook
the tree to which he was clinging, while a blast of cold air swept
across the plateau, tossing the flames upon the altar into a twisting
pyramid of fire.

This further illumination showed him the dreadful fact.  The rocky
declivity, the entire side of the pass, was actually sliding forward,
taking with it the trees that had found their meagre sustenance among
its boulders.  Those who fought in the canyon would be buried beneath
the avalanche.

With a yell of terror, the Snake swung downwards from his hiding-place
and, like a beast pursued, blinded by fear, plunged into the dense
underbrush beneath the blazing trees.  Hot ashes seared his flying
feet, cinders flared momentarily in his hair, while the smouldering
forest pressed in upon him as if to smother him in its embrace.
Somewhere below lay the sea and the canoes that had brought his
warriors--and Tik-atl.  Scorched and bleeding, he finally felt the sea
air in his nostrils as he crawled out upon the beach where the fleet
had landed.

The sky was clear now, lighted by stars.  The Snake stumbled over the
body of the magician, turning up the gashed and disfigured face of his
chief so that, through war-paint and clotted blood, it stared at him
with glassy, unseeing eyes.  With a howl that echoed through the woods
above him, Tsik-an raced for the nearest canoe.  His yell was answered
by others.  A few minutes later, the remnants of the rear-guard of the
Haidas gathered their sparse forces and, without waiting to collect
their equipment, sought safety upon the sea.

In the Salish encampment there was a sound of great rejoicing.  Those
of Auria's brave defenders who had survived the siege and the women who
had fought side by side with the men, or had done their duty
within-doors, found their strength renewed by the miraculous cessation
of peril.  Savage joy was not to be repressed.  About leaping fires
piled high with branches of fir and cedar, those who were sound in body
danced while the war-drums woke the echoes in the surrounding forest.
To-morrow they could sleep free from the terror which had threatened to
crush their nation out of existence.  The constant shadow of fear cast
by the Northern raiders would not, in all likelihood, darken their
shores again for many suns.  To confirm their faith, the Great Spirit
had spoken through the lips of their beloved priestess and had crowned
their people with victory.  Carved and emblazoned upon their totems it
would go down to their descendants that they had triumphed, once in the
long years, over the hated Haidas.

Within the silent council-lodge, in her inner chamber, the Princess
Auria knelt beside her couch.  Her golden head rested upon her arms,
her eyes hidden from sight.  Beneath the folds of her white robe, her
shoulders trembled as she was swept by the storm of her weeping.  She
paused to drag her body forward while she pressed her lips to the
pillow at the head of her bed.  Her widowed heart rebelled at the fate
which had set her feet upon the thorn-strewn path of the saviours of
men.  As a woman, she knew that she had been more gloriously crowned
than if the impersonal Love of the spirit world had wrapped her in
flaming ecstasy.  Not Master Anson only had learned life's supreme
lesson in that night of triumph and terror.  Auria knew now that no
discernible line could be drawn between the human and the divine.

Like a thunderbolt the reaction had come when the woman within her
arose and pointed with accusing finger at the priestess.  A wild
tempest of pain assailed the citadel of her faith.  In the struggle she
was torn inwardly, until her body threatened to succumb before the
conflict of spirit which was prisoned within it.  Then, through the
darkness and anguish, there stole a ray from the Inner Light.  Love
could never lose its own.  In the eternal ways she, Auria, the woman,
and Richard Anson, adventurer, would meet again, and, hand in hand,
would take up their task once more.  With this knowledge came an
abiding peace.  It would hold body and soul together until her work was
completed.

To her, thus wrapt in her sorrow, there was borne the sound of
footsteps, soft and hesitating, which paused at her side.  Surprised
that any should, without permission, enter her sanctuary, Auria raised
her head.  Through the mist of her tears she saw Keet-sa-o, the Haida
maiden, standing silently with bowed head and hands folded before her.
The rebuke upon the lips of the princess remained unuttered.
Nevertheless she roused herself to say:

"Why have you come?  You are a stranger, if I mistake not."

"I am Keet-sa-o, the daughter of Tik-atl."

Auria marvelled at the rich beauty of the girl's voice.  Her eyes
widened with a sudden thrill of surprise mingled with apprehension.
Yet, in this maiden's gentle bearing and soft beauty there was nothing
to hint of hatred.

"Tik-atl's daughter!  A Haida!  How..."

The girl interrupted, her tones even and without emotion.  "He is dead.
I killed him."

The woman, shocked into temporarily forgetting her own grief, arose
slowly and confronted the girl.  Then, involuntarily, she drew a little
away from where Keet-sa-o stood with hands quietly folded.

"You killed him--and you are his daughter?"

The little maiden glanced quickly at the woman who shrank from her.
There was a sudden flame which smouldered in the depths of her dark
eyes.

"Keet-sa-o hears your lips.  Can the heart of the white queen say that
she has never killed?  I hated my father.  He was a bad spirit.  I
would not kill that which I love."

Like an arrow, keen-tipped, her words quivered instantly in Auria's
bosom.

"Why do you come to me?  Why do you tell me this?" she cried.

"Because," Keet-sa-o looked straight into the eyes of the princess, "I
loved the white chief."

Into Auria's mind there flashed the picture shown her by the fates when
the Northern magician stood at her side.  A strip of brown sand--a
sea-worn log--Richard Anson smiling into black eyes dangerously near
his own.  Why had she not recognised the girl at the first glance?

"I do not understand.  How come you to be in our village?"  Into the
voice of the woman there was creeping the old note of command belonging
to her rank.

"Keet-sa-o came to tell you that she was with the white chief.  It was
my hand that guided him over the waters that he might save you and your
people.  Why did I come?  That he might be happy--that he might live in
happiness with you who were the light of his heart.  And now--he is
dead!  If I had known--if my eyes could have seen what the days would
bring--I would not have brought him to his death.  He would have
learned to forget."  She continued fiercely, "I would have made him
forget!"

The girl, who had stepped forward, moved by the intensity of her
passion, stopped abruptly.

"I have done my duty to my people," said Auria, "and, having done the
highest and best that I know, the results may be left to the gods.
Love cares for its own.  Master Anson and I will meet again."

Keet-sa-o's eyes flashed dangerously.  "These things I do not
understand.  You speak of your people.  I, too, have my people, but--I
left them for him.  Only his happiness mattered.  I could even have
been content as his slave while he lived with you.  I have done a great
wrong.  I should not have given him to you to sacrifice upon the altar
of your duty.  I should have saved him--kept him from this fate."

The princess sank again to her knees by the couch.  As she wept, the
girl's voice came to her, a despairing cry that was agony to hear,
"But--no--he would not have forgotten.  He loved only you!"

The greater woman in Auria, in that instant, took possession of her.
She rose and gently drew the little brown maid to her, forcing her to
sit at her side upon the bed.  Love, if it be worthy of the name,
brings a deeper wisdom than any in the world of mind.  So it transpired
that while the Salish rejoiced without, the two women who had loved sat
with each other until the light of a greater understanding made the way
clear before them.

The noise of the villagers had abated.  Exhausted, the warriors and
women had retired to their lodges.  Auria was speaking.

"The Haidas are the strongest of the tribes.  If only they had a great
leader and wise to teach them the better way, they could join together
all of our people into one nation.  Then, in the dark days to come,
when the white men find your shores, you will not fail.  You can meet
wisdom with wisdom, and live.  Before day breaks I shall have gone.
Nor shall I return.  My gift of vision means that I know certainly of
these things which are a woman's mysteries.  When my hour has come,
Keet-sa-o, I shall send for you.  The child will be the saviour of your
race."

After a pause she continued.  It was not only the High Priestess of
Mysteries who spoke but rather the woman, chastened by the flame of
supreme sacrifice.

"My child--my sister--your woman heart will tell you that I speak
truly.  For my people I have given all that life holds dear.  I have
paid the price.  Love always demands that, be it the love of the many
or of one.  For the future, I have done well, but for the present--oh,
Keet-sa-o--I am but a woman--a broken woman for whom Death, when he
comes, will wear the face of a friend!"

The Haida maiden placed her hand lovingly upon the arm of the princess.
Her voice was beseeching--not to be denied.

"If it is not forbidden, Keet-sa-o will go with you."

      *      *      *      *      *

A white dawn silvered the tops of the fir-trees about the capital of
the Salish.  The air, after rain, was sweet with the fragrance of brown
earth and green, growing things.  Before the council-lodge, men, women
and children stood about the smoking embers of the great altar.  Iala,
the handmaiden, was speaking.

"Before the sun, when the last stars were shining, she went away.  Into
the forest," pointing upward through the blackened and smouldering
timber towards the snow-clad peaks, "she went, and with her went the
Haida girl who came with the white chief.  It is the will of the great
queen that his ashes be scattered upon the waves of the sea over which
the Northern wolves fled to their homes."


A year of peace and plenty passed in the Southern country.  The
glittering salmon came in quantity to their nets.  Brown-eyed children
laughed in the sun while their fathers returned laden with meat from
the hills.  Among the Salish, the measure of prosperity was overflowing.

Then, down through the black straits to northward, there came a strange
rumour which set all tongues talking.  The Haidas boasted of a white
chief, a "Child of the Sun."  They had found him, so the tale had been
told, in a war canoe beached at a landing below one of their villages.
With all due reverence and appropriate ceremony, they had hailed his
advent as a sign from the Great Raven that they were to have, once
more, a mighty magician to restore their supremacy and to make them
perpetual Lords of the Sea and Air.




THE END






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THE FAR WEST COAST.  By V. L. DENTON.

With Illustrations and Maps.  Crown 8vo.

The story of a hundred years of adventure and discovery on the Pacific
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the Far West Coast to-day.  Bering, Cook, Meares, Vancouver--these are
the great names of the period under review, the heroes of the
eighteenth century.



CANADIAN FEDERATION.  By REGINALD GEORGE TROTTER, Ph.D.  (Assistant
Professor of History in Stanford University).

A Study in Nation Building.  Small Demy 8vo.  320 pp.

The narrative, fully and concisely told, is based on an extensive study
of printed and manuscript sources, some never previously used in this
connection.  Primarily it is an account of the circumstances which made
federation not only possible, but timely, necessary, even inevitable;
it displays the influences which brought the issue to the fore and
those which finally pushed the developed project to consummation.



THE VOICE OF CANADA.  Canadian Prose and Poetry, selected by A. M.
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As a representative selection of Canadian prose and poetry, _The Voice
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Notable DENT Novels


SALTACRES.  By LESLIE REID.

A dramatic, moving story set in the West Country, by the author of _The
Rector of Maliseet_.


UNDER THE NORTHERN LIGHTS.  By ALAN SULLIVAN.

"Equal in subject and setting, and in power, to the best work of Jack
London."--_T.P.'s Weekly_.


AKHNATON, KING OF EGYPT.  By DMITRI MEREZKHOVSKY.

The mystical glamour of ancient Egypt has never been depicted in
fiction with greater faith or colour than in this novel by the author
of _The Birth of the Gods_.


THE BIRTH OF THE GODS.  By DMITRI MEREZKHOVSKY.

"A violent, beautiful story."--_Daily News_.


THE SUN OF THE DEAD.  By IVAN SHMELOV.

Beauty and suffering are here contrasted in a tale of Bolshevist
Russia, of blighted lives lived in surroundings of exquisite natural
charm.


BLINDNESS.  By HENRY GREEN.

"A memorable achievement."--_Sphere_.

"Sincerity ... keenness ... success really astonishing."--_Daily
Telegraph_.


THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER.  By HILDUR DIXELIUS.

"An entirely beautiful book, both in the rich variety of its
characters, in the delicacy and truth of their development, and in the
telling of the tale."--_Morning Post_.


FOR SONS OF GENTLEMEN.  By "KERR SHAW."

"A profoundly moving story of one of the smaller public
schools."--_Daily Express_.



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[End of The Kingdom of the Sun, by A. M. Stephen]
