OCR Text |
Show The Valley of Voices "MY VALLEY !" SYNOPSIS. With David, half-breed half-breed guide. Brent Steele, of the American Museum of Natural History. ia traveling In northern Canada. By a stream he hears JJenlse, daughter of Col. Hilaire ht. Onto, factor at Wailing Kiver, lilay the violin superbly. He Introduces In-troduces himself and accepts an Invitation to make the post his home during his stay, lie finds the factor worried and mystified. 1 he "lot; chaleuu" Is a real home. From St. (JnEe he learns of the mysterious creature of evil, the "WindlRo," and the disappearance of a canoe and Its crew, with the season's take of furs. Then at nl'hl the "Windigo" gives a weird performance. Even Steele Is mystified. David, Steele's Indian, In-dian, and Michel, St. Onyre's headman, head-man, leave for the scene of the canoe's disappearance in an attempt at-tempt to solve the mystery. CHAPTER III 6 As the days passed nt Wailing Itiver, and the dread voice failed to break upon the crisp September nights Tth a recurrence of its horror, the people timidly took un the old order of their days. The rabbit snares in the forest were again visited and reset re-set by the women, who traveled in pairs for mutual encouragement, and one day Tete-Boule was prevailed upon by the factor to go out with another Indian after moose, for the fort needed fresh meat. As he left, the Ojihway gravely shook the hands of the fearful women and children gathered on the shore, bidding them look upon him for the last time, for by night he and his comrade would be mangled flesh In the. maw of the YVintligo. "Did you hear that fool?" Steele asked St. Onge, standing near him on the beach. "This thing has ruined him as a hunter," replied the factor, "he will never recover from It." "I think I'll run upstream to the riffles this morning and catch some dore for supper," said the younger man as they returned to the trade-house. trade-house. Later, a second canoe quietly left the post, but when the boat reached the riffles, a mile above, the occupant did not stop to fish but continued upstream following the shore. And when the flash from the paddles of the craft above ceased, and the spot on the river which was the canoe, moved to the shore, the boat following, follow-ing, also turned in. and was lifted and hidden In the alders. Then the premonition of Tete-Boule attained a partial fulfilment, for on the shores of the Wailing started a man hunt; but the incentive in the hunter was not a craving for human flesh, but a mild curiosity. Eefore sunset the safe return to the post of Tete-Boule and his partner was heralded with Joy, although they had failed in their hunt. But it was well after dark before the second canoe slid silently in to the stony beach. "You had no luck this afternoon, monsieur, you caught nothing?" laughed St. Onge as Steele appeared for supper. "As a matter of fact, Colonel, 1 went hunting, but the game was ton -anie for sport." St. Onge's black brows lifted. "You are cryptic, monsieur." "Well, to confess," laughed Steele, "I was interested to see how much hunting your men would really do and I found out." "You followed Tete-Boule's canoe?" "Yes, I watched them for a few hours, but as they showed no sign of taking to the bush, I traveled over to those ponds Michel told me about. ! Tomorrow, if you have a man who will help me pack the meat, I'll get a moose." "And Tete-Boule never left the rl v i r ) " "Not while I watched him." The factor shrugged significantly. "He's 'bush shy' now and will not hunt. But what is there to do?" "Have you thought that he might be shamming to avoid work? Is he lazy?" "No. he always was a good packer and hunter. It's the Windigo." In the week past. Steele had seen all loo little of the girl whose per-I per-I sonalitv had so vividly aroused his i Interest, whose moods, defying analysis, analy-sis, only' added to her cliai-n. Convinced Con-vinced that beyond n dread oi" Hie ir'l.v alternatives which the future might present to her choice, beyond any possible pos-sible fear of the mnnifesrntioiis of the supernMi'rnl which the post had witnessed, there lurked a tangible cause for anxiety, his active mind and be.n ceaseless in its groping for a Hew to its nature. Two days fo!-,., fo!-,., the night of terror, he had spent searching the big ridge for sign of wolverine. lynx or wolr. had produced pro-duced nothing in explanation of the mysterious cries, hut while his eyes swept the dry floor of the forest lo right and left, his thoughts hn, deal, with the reiterated query: Whom did she fear at the rapids? W hat was she about to tell me when St. Onge interrupted? She had said. 'I.nt yo-i do not know the danger', and. taer-e are so man,' Many what? t loar.y there was something more than in-Wimli-'o in this warning. Iul w.ait could it be?" So Steele returned from h s ito. . Pss search of the ridge M .a:l lor the return of David and Mirl H - By GEORGE MARSH ' Author of "Toilers of the Trail" he Whelps of the Wolf" (Coryrlcht tiy the Pern Puhllshine Co.) (W. N. U. Service.) a definite plan of campaign could be framed. On a morning wlien the warm September Sep-tember sun, lifting the low-lying river mists, rolled them back on ridges, here and there already flecked with the yellow and gold of a frost-painted birch or poplar. Denise St. Onge ap-penred ap-penred at breakfast - in whipcord and heavy boots. Steele stared in surprise nt the change in face and manner of his hostess. The ghost of worry bad left her eyes, which shone with high spirits. Her mood of silence had given way to a gayety foreign to his knowledge knowl-edge of her. "This beautiful morning, monsieur, Charlotte and I go to wave an an revoir to the summer which passes." "Charlotte is to be envied," he replied, re-plied, charmed with the note of cheerfulness. cheer-fulness. Her eyes lighted with amusement. "It is possible that it might be arranged ar-ranged that we take with us a bodyguard," body-guard," she said archly. "Of course, it is not for ladies to demand the presence of cavaliers " "Take me, oh fair lady, as thy knight !" he hegged. "Laggard though you are, you may escort us to my watch tower, where Charlotte awl I go to play the spring north, and to wave a bon voyage to the last of the geese." "It is charming of you, mademoiselle, mademoi-selle, to allow me to go," he said, delighted at having the girl to himself in her gay mood, Accompanied by the stolid Charlotte, carrying a birch bark basket containing contain-ing tli e lunch, and whose swart face "And This Message Is It a Secret?" betrayed misgivings she dared not voice, Denise St. Onge appeared at the trade-house. "Y'ou will not go without your rifle, monsieur?" queried St. Onge as Steele joined them. "Is the Windigo dangerous in broad daylight?" facetiously asked Steele. The bronze face of the factor reddened. red-dened. "The Windigo may strike in the day or night, monsieur. Who knows? It is well you go armed." And he handed the Mannlicher to the American, Ameri-can, who took it. mystified, irritated, that the man to whom lie had 'ottered his services should withhold his confidence. con-fidence. Bed by the girl, hardly recognizable in her sudden metamorphosis from a creature of reticence and aloofness to one quick with life, vibrant to the magic of the sunlit September hills. Hmv took rbe trail to an isolated ridgp about a mile hack from the river. The Watch tower was aptly named, for unlike most of the high hind of t lie country, the hill was rapped by a bare brow of roc;; commanding a little valley studded with a chain of miniature lakes. Beyond, a sweep of rolling forest faded into the haze of the southern horizon. "Is it not beautiful my valley, monsieur?" she asked with a wide sweep of her arm. "Beautiful '." he repeated. "Anil you Kiiiip here often?" "Yes- that is, we used to come here; but lately" She caught herself her-self up sharply, then continued. "This valley, monsieur. 1 rail my Val - of Teinpe.' It is enchanting to watch the spring slowly sweep it with i;s magic paint in. here and there, the soft green of the young birch leaves, the silver of poplar, and l.aan of gib-ad : then rim that brook with the red of the willow buds. And the first flowers of the fun st hepatica. purple and pink and white: violets and wood anemone and trillium " . She paused, the dark eyes grew wistful the voice throaty, as she continued: con-tinued: "Once there was no terror in hese green forests; om-e we searched annfraid. Charlotte and I. for the flower treasures they pos.-ssed. '('o"-o and I'md us?' they called, ami daily ue sou:.i li em and l.roulit tl:eui i.,,i:ie to transplant in our gardm. hut ao'.v " "Hut now?' he repeated, wondering r v.. re a: l..st. to ki.u-.v to be ;, fi ;:; .-: I'.l 111 T S(" P i. j; , , ,. ;;iV:! him. "': .iti.ilte and I often came here to dream anr- play away the day that is, I did," she laughed, "Boor Charlotte at times was bored, oh. so bored ! Was it not so, Charlotte?" "Enh, enh! Yes!" mumbled the Ojihway Ojih-way woman, who sat on a rock-apart from the two. her restless eyes sweeping sweep-ing the scrub below them. "Charlotte is not bored now; she's scared to death," suggested Steele with a laugh. "Has she not reason, monsieur?" protested Denise. "But we have not been here, she and I, since midsummer. midsum-mer. And I miss It so." "You fear to come here now believe be-lieve in this thing?" He welcomed the opportunity to put the question directly. di-rectly. The dark eyes frankly met his. "Is there not good reason, monsieur, for fear in a woman? After the fur canoe and that night?" Natural as had been her reply, Steele intuitively sensed that she was dissembling to avoid his inevitable questioning was willing to have him believe that she, too, was a victim of the general superstition. But she had betrayed herself the morning her father cut short her half-uttered warning. warn-ing. Well, the day was youirg and he feared to press her then for an explanation ex-planation of what she patently desired de-sired to avoid. So with a nodded assent as-sent to her question, he changed the subject. "We are to have gay music today, mademoiselle. Y'ou remember, you promised we should be merry." "Yes, today the violin shall sing of joy; it is too beautiful here to be. sad. Even though the first gray geese of the year pass south, I shall send them no message." "And this message is it a secret?" "A secret, monsieur? What secrets can a woman cherish in these forests?" Her reply had been spontaneous, Innocent In-nocent of subterfuge ; then, in his lifted eyebrows and humorous curl of lip, she caught the reflection of the double Implication of her question, and her face flushed to the temples. "Have you ever longed to journey south with the passing geese?" he quickly asked, gallantly covering her embarrassment. "As you play them down the skies, do you not wish to join them ?" "Why, Monsieur Steele, "you have stolen my dreams," she cried, radiant with surprise. "Always, as they pass, I stand here calling to them to lend me wings to follow follow into the south. I try to lure them back with my violin but no, they pass. So I send them down the wind to a mad quick-step my bon voyage, my farewell fare-well until spring pipes them north." She had risen. And her eyes, shining shin-ing with emotion, her face, vivid with the color of her thoughts, strangely stirred the man who listened. The lines of her straight body, from shoulders to trim feet, held his eyes. Watching her, Steele asked himself what this strange girl, tense as the strings of her violin, with her moods of aloofness and silence, followed by swift changes to whimsical gayety and lightness of spirit, was coming to mean to him. As her eyes again met Ids he wondered what memories he should curry down to Xepigon in October. Octo-ber. "And the message you send with the geese?" he asked. "There is homesickness home-sickness in it for your France your Touraine?" "Ah," she sighed, "is it not natural, monsieur? I do long for the roses and the poppy fields the warm sun on the white roads and the laughter of the people. There is no laughter at Wailing Itiver now." She raised tier hands in eloquent gesture. "The winter here is so long so cold. The eternal wind in the spruce does it not I speak to you, too? To me there are always the voices voices of hunger and pain and dealh." I "Yes, summer or winter," he said, J "the voices are everywhere, in the I white-waters, the spruce, the hills. And often, in the breeze, the forest I becomes one great orchestra." "You have heard It. too?" she cried, "the sweep of the violins, the moaning of the cellos?" "I always hear them in the summer, sum-mer, from a river; with the drumbeat drum-beat of rapids us accompaniment." "All, there is much of the poet in you, monsieur." And for an instant here was a light in the girl's eyes which set wild thoughts stirring In his brain. "But our winter is beautiful, beauti-ful, also, in moods." she went on. "The quiet days with the sun on the snow I love then to walk in the 'orest. Ami the winding snowshoe "ails; do they not call you to follow?" fol-low?" 1 Evidently Steele h2s fallen in love with the beautiful French girl. And her feelings? (TO UK roN'TINL'KD.) ' |