It was late ere Rutland ceased and laid his violin aside. The Indians at once dispersed to their lodges, and silence brooded over the encampment. The moon rose big and bright above the mountains and cast its reflection down into the depths of the quiet lake. Rutland sat for a while watching the superb scene. Then he rose to his feet, and went to the lodge where Nance was lying. He saw that she was sleeping comfortably and, bending over her, he kissed her little white cheek. The child moved, and the word "mamma" came sleepily from her lips. Perhaps the mother, all unseen, was watching over her little one—who knows? Rutland crept softly away and, with his single blanket wrapped about his body, was soon fast asleep upon the hard ground.
CHAPTER V
A CABIN FOR TWO
In a few days Martin's strength was much renewed. The Indians treated him with great kindness, and the women were never weary of caring for the little white child. With hooks supplied him by the natives, Martin succeeded in catching a number of fine salmon in the lake, and these formed excellent food. He looked forward also to the hunting of moose and mountain-sheep, for he had brought with him a good rifle and a number of cartridges. His spirits naturally rose as the days passed. To him the life was ideal. There was a freedom from care, and with Nance by his side he often wandered for hours along the shore of the lake. The child thoroughly enjoyed these rambles, and many were the questions she asked as well as making quaint remarks about the numerous things she saw.
Martin soon realised that it would not do to remain idle for any length of time. The cool nights warned him that summer was passing, and unless he had a shelter for the winter their position would be a sorry one. Such lodges as the Indians used would be unbearable to them when frost sealed the streams and storms swept howling over the land. He accordingly searched around for a suitable place to build a cabin, and at length settled upon a beautiful spot near the mouth of the Quaska River, where trees stood in abundance suitable for his purpose.
With an axe, borrowed from an Indian, he one day set earnestly to work. Martin had been brought up on a farm, and was well accustomed to the use of the axe. During the years of his wandering life he had been forced at times to toil as a labourer to earn his daily bread. He now put his heart into his task and worked with a will such as he had not known for years. He had to ask no one for the use of the land, and the trees were standing ready for him to cut. As he cleared the ground upon a gentle elevation several rods back from the river, he would stand at times and look out over the lake. The thrill of ownership possessed his soul, and he felt that he would not exchange his lot for the most favoured being on earth. Every day Nance accompanied him and played among the trees and branches. He built her a little playhouse, and sometimes he would sit by her side to rest, play with her, or tell some story to delight the child's heart.
The cabin Martin planned to build was not a large one. It was only for two, he told himself, but it must be as cosy as his hands could make it. There were to be two rooms; one where they would live and the other where provisions would be stored.
After the foundation had been laid Martin began to carry stones from the river and the shore of the lake. With these he constructed a fire-place at one end of the building. This was a work of considerable importance, and occupied him for several weeks. The stones had to be broken, shaped, and then laid carefully together with clay, which he found by digging along the shore of the lake. This, when hardened, was almost like cement, and served his purpose better than the ordinary mortar.
When the fire-place was completed, and tapered off into a capacious chimney, he set to work upon the walls of the cabin. Logs, hewn on three sides, were laid one upon another, and fitted closely together. Then came the roof, composed of long poles, covered with mud and turf. Moss was used for the chinking of the walls, and to obtain this Martin and Nance went every day to a swamp a short distance back from the river, until a sufficient supply was gathered.
By the time this work was completed the days were much shorter. Martin was anxious to occupy his cabin as soon as possible, for he was afraid that the cold nights in the Indian lodge might not be good for Nance. With much difficulty he fashioned a door. It was a marvellous contrivance when finished, and Martin was quite proud of his handiwork. He had no glass for windows, and so was forced to use the skins of mountain-sheep, with the hair removed and scraped very thin. These, stretched across the openings, let in considerable light during the day, and kept out the wind and cold as well. The floor was made of logs, hewn as smooth as the axe could make them. The living room was only eighteen feet long by twelve wide, which could easily be heated, and quite large enough for two.
For the first time in his life Martin possessed a house entirely his own, and which he had built with his own hands. In days long past he had pictured to himself a little home which he and Beryl would occupy. He often thought of those day-dreams as he toiled at his cabin. In fact she had been much in his mind since the night he had seen her in the church and listened to her singing. Try as he might, he could not forget her, although the remembrance always brought a bitter pang to his heart of what he had forever lost. Often he would lie awake at night thinking of the days when they were so much together. At times he had an almost irresistible longing to see her again. This, however, he was forced to banish, as he well knew that such a thing was impossible. While busy at work upon the cabin he had no time to brood over his past life. He was always so tired at night that he slept soundly until the break of day. He dreaded the thought of having nothing to do. Action was his one salvation, and he knew that he must be busy at something. He would find occupation, so he told himself, which would keep his mind from dwelling upon the things he wished to forget.
It was a cold night when Martin lighted the fire and brought Nance to the cabin. A fierce wind was howling over the land, swaying the trees and ruffling the surface of the lake. Nance stood watching the flames as they licked up the chimney.
"Pretty, pretty!" she cried, clapping her hands with glee and then stretching them out toward the fire.
"Is Nance happy now?" Martin questioned, watching with interest the bright sparkle of her eyes, and the fire-light playing upon her face and hair.
"Yes, happy," the child replied. Then she climbed upon his knee, and laid her head against his shoulder. "When will we go to my papa and mamma?" she at length asked.
"Not yet, Nance," and Martin's voice was low. "You must stay with me for a while. But tell me about them, little one, for I never knew them."
"You didn't know my daddy and mamma!" and Nance lifted her head and looked straight into her guardian's eyes. "Isn't that funny," and she gave a queer little chuckle. "My daddy was big and so strong that he could carry me everywhere. He played with me, too, and we had such fun. Mamma used to tell me stories, such nice ones, and she always kissed me when I went to bed. I wonder where she can be."
"Do you like stories, Nance?" Martin asked.
"Oh, yes. I like nice ones about fairies. Mamma often told me about Alice in Wonderland. Do you know that? It is so pretty. I'll get mamma to tell it to you some day."