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Updated: June 16, 2025
Where's the girl? I'm gonna find out if I have to boil you in grease." Still Onistah said nothing. West brought another coal. "We'll try the other foot," he said. Again the pungent acrid odor rose to the nostrils. "How about it now?" the convict questioned. No answer came. This time Onistah had fainted. Jessie's shoes crunched on the snow-crust. She traveled fast.
Whaley?" she cried softly. "I don't know what I think. Probably nothing to it. But there's a locket. We know that. With a picture that looks like you, Lemoine here thinks. We'd better find out whose picture it is, hadn't we?" "Yes, but Do you mean that maybe it has something to do with me? How can it? The sister of Stokimatis was my mother. Onistah is my cousin. Ask Stokimatis. She knows.
But with her dislike of him ran another feeling now, born of the knowledge of new angles in him. He was hard as nails, but he would do to ride the river with. Another surprise was waiting for Jessie. As soon as Onistah came into the circle of light, he walked straight to the whiskey-smuggler. "You save my life from Crees. Thanks," he said in English. Onistah offered his hand.
The white man took it. He was embarrassed. "Oh, well, I kinda took a hand." The Indian was not through. "Onistah never forget. He pay some day." Tom waved this aside. "How's the leg? Seems to be all right now." Swiftly Jessie turned to the Indian and asked him a question in the native tongue. He answered. They exchanged another sentence or two. The girl spoke to Morse. "Onistah is my brother.
She caught sight of Onistah again, his eyes level with the window-sill. He was waiting for instructions. Jessie gave them to him straight and plain. She spoke to Whaley, but for the Blackfoot's ear. "Bring my father here. At once. I want him. Won't you, please?" Whaley's blank poker stare focused on her. "The last word I had from Angus McRae was to keep out of your affairs.
"But " "West burned his feet to make him tell where you were," Beresford told her gently. "Oh!" she cried, in horror. "Good old Onistah. He gamed it out. Wouldn't say a word. West saw us coming and hit the trail." "Is he is he ?" "He's gone." "I mean Onistah." "Suffering to beat the band, but not a whimper out of him. He's not permanently hurt be walking around in a week or two."
The train made good time, but to Jessie it seemed to crawl. She was tortured with anxiety for Onistah. An express could not have carried her fast enough. It was small comfort to tell herself that Onistah was a Blackfoot and knew every ruse of the woods. His tracks would lead straight to him and the veriest child could follow them.
When Morse stopped to rest the dogs for a few moments, she tucked up Onistah again and recurred to the subject. "I don't think Win Beresford should go after West alone except for a Cree guide. The Inspector ought to send another constable with him. Or two more. If he knew that man how cruel and savage he is " Tom Morse spoke quietly. "He's not going alone. I'll be with him." She stared. "You?"
One of her friends! A little burst of prayer welled out of her heart. She left the cabin and went toward the man. He waved a hand to her and she flung up a joyful gesture in answer. For her rescuer was Onistah. Jessie found herself with both hands in his, biting her lower lip to keep back tears. She could not speak for the emotion that welled up in her.
Jessie's one hope was that Onistah would hasten to the rescue. Yet she dreaded the moment of his coming. He was a gentle soul, one of Father Giguère's converts. It was altogether likely that he would walk into the camp of the escaped convict openly and become a victim of the murderer's guile. Onistah did not lack courage. He would fight if he had to do so.
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