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THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK


------------------------------------------------------------------------

                         THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
                  NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
                        ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

                        MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
                       LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
                               MELBOURNE

                   THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
                                TORONTO

------------------------------------------------------------------------


[Illustration: Close to the hearth a big chair had been drawn and in
this some one was sitting.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK

by

ADAIR ALDON

Author of “The Island of Appledore,” etc.

With Frontispiece






New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1918
By the Macmillan Company

Set up and electrotyped.
Published, September, 1918

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                CONTENTS

               I. A Stranger in a Strange Land
              II. The Brown Bear’s Skin
             III. Laughing Mary
              IV. The Heart of the Forest
               V. Oscar Dansk
              VI. The Promised Land
             VII. Whither Away?
            VIII. A Night’s Lodging
              IX. Peril at the Bridge
               X. First Blood to the Pirate
              XI. The White Flag
             XII. A Highway through the Hills

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                       THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK




                               CHAPTER I

                      A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND


The long Pullman train, an hour late and greatly begrudging the time for
a special stop, came sliding into the tiny station of Rudolm and
deposited a solitary passenger upon the platform. The porter set Hugh
Arnold’s suitcase on the ground and accepted his proffered coin, all in
one expert gesture, and said genially:

“We’re way behind time on this run, but we come through on the down trip
at six in the morning, sharp. You-all will be going back with us
to-morrow, I reckon.”

“No,” replied Hugh, as he came down from the car step and gathered up
his belongings. “No, I’m going to stay.”

“Stay?” repeated the porter. “Oh—a week, I suppose. No one really stays
at Rudolm except them that are born there and can’t get away.”

Hugh shook his head.

“I am going to stay all winter,” he said.

“The whole winter! Say, do you know what winter _is_ up here?” the man
exclaimed. “For the love of—”

A violent jolt of the train was the engineer’s reminder that friendly
converse was not in order when there was time to be made up.

“All right, sah, good-by. I hope you like staying, only remember—we go
through every day at six in the morning less’n we’re late. _Good_-by.”

The train swept away, leaving Hugh to look after it for a moment before
he turned to take his first survey of Rudolm and the wide sheet of blue
water upon whose shore it stood.

Red Lake, when he and his father had first looked it up on the map,
seemed a queer, crooked place, full of harbors and headlands and hidden
coves, the wider stretches extending here and there to fifteen, twenty,
twenty-five miles of open water, again narrowing to mere winding
channels choked with islands. Hugh would have liked to say afterward
that he knew even from the map that this was a region promising
adventures, that down the lake’s winding tributaries he was going to be
carried to strange discoveries, but, as a matter of fact, he had no such
foreknowledge.

Indeed, it was his father who observed that the lake looked like a
proper haunt for pirates and Hugh who reminded him that pirates were not
ever to be found so far north. All the books he had seen, pictured them
as burying treasure on warm, sunny, sandy beaches, or flying in pursuit
of their prey on the wings of the South Sea winds. Pirates in the wooded
regions to the north of the Mississippi Valley, pirates where the snow
lay so deep and the lake was frozen for nearly half the year, where only
through a short summer could the waters be plied by “a low, raking,
black hulk” such as all pirates sail—it was not to be thought of! Even
now, when Hugh stood on the station platform and caught his first
glimpse of the real Red Lake, saw the wide blue waters flecked with
sunny whitecaps, the hundred pine-covered islands and the long miles of
wooded shore, even then he had no thought of how different he was to
find this place from any other he had ever seen. Both lake and town
seemed to him to promise little.

For Rudolm, set in its narrow valley between the Minnesota hills, looked
as though it had been dropped from some child’s box of toys, so small
and square were the houses and so hit-or-miss was the order in which
they stood along the one wide, crooked street. There were no trees
growing beside the rough wooden sidewalks, the street was dusty and the
sun, even although it was October, seemed to him to shine with a
pitiless glare. He walked slowly along the platform, wondering why Dick
Edmonds had not come to meet him, thinking that Rudolm seemed the
dullest and most uninteresting town in America and trying to stifle the
rising wish that he had never come.

A soft pad, pad on the boards behind him made him turn his head as a man
walked swiftly past. Hugh saw that his shapeless black hat had a
speckled feather stuck into the band and that he wore, instead of shoes,
soft rounded moccasins edged with a gay embroidery of beads. Plainly the
man was an Indian. At the thought the boy’s heart beat a little faster.
He had not known there would be Indians!

His own being in Rudolm was simple enough, although somewhat unexpected.
Hugh’s father was a doctor, enrolled in the Medical Reserve since the
beginning of the war but not until this month ordered away to France.
The problem of where Hugh should live during his absence was a difficult
one since Hugh had no mother and there were no immediate relatives to
whom he could go. He had finished school but had been judged rather too
young for college, and, so his father maintained in spite of frantic
pleading, much too young to enlist.

“I’m sixteen,” was the boy’s insistent argument, but—

“Wait until you have been sixteen more than two days,” was his father’s
answer.

“I could go with the medical unit, I know enough from helping you to be
some use as a hospital orderly,” Hugh begged, “I would do anything just
to go to France.”

“They need men in France, not boys just on the edge of being men,” Dr.
Arnold replied, “when you have had one or two years’ worth of experience
and judgment, then you will be some help to them over there. But not
now.”

“The war will be over by then,” wailed Hugh.

“Don’t fear,” his father observed grimly, “there is going to be enough
of it for all of us to have our share.”

So there the discussion ended and the question of what Hugh was to do
came up for settlement. There was a distant cousin of his father’s in
New York—but this suggestion was never allowed to get very far. Hugh had
never met the cousin and did not relish the idea of going to live with
him, “sight unseen” as he put it, on such short notice. It was his own
plan to go to Rudolm where lived the two Edmonds brothers, John, cashier
of the bank there and a great friend of his father’s, and Dick, a boy
four years older than himself, whom he had met but once yet knew that he
liked immensely. Several times John Edmonds had written to Dr. Arnold—

“If Hugh ever wants to spend any time ‘on his own’ we could find him a
job here in Rudolm, I know. It is a queer little place, just a mining
and lumbering town full of Swedes, but he might like the hunting and the
country and find it interesting for a while.”

It was the idea of spending the time “on his own” that made Hugh feel
that thus the period of his father’s absence might chance to seem a
little shorter and the soreness of missing him might grow a little less.
John Edmonds had answered their letters most cordially and had said that
all could be arranged and Hugh need only telegraph the day of his
arrival. The final preparations had been hastened by the coming of Dr.
Arnold’s sailing orders; the two had bidden each other good-by and good
luck with resolute cheerfulness and Hugh had set forth on his long
journey northward. He had never seen the Great Lakes nor the busy inland
shipping ports with their giant freighters lying at the docks, nor the
rising hills of the Iron Range through which his way must lead, but he
noticed them very little. His thoughts were very far away and fixed on
other things. Even now, as he walked slowly up Rudolm’s one street he
was not dwelling so much on his forlorn wonder why he did not see his
friends, but was thinking of a great transport that must, almost at that
hour, be nosing her way out of “an Atlantic port,” of the swift
destroyers gathering to convoy her, of the salt sea breezes blowing
across her deck, blowing sharp from the east, from over the sea—from
France. For he was certain, from all that he could gather, that his
father was sailing to-day and was launching upon his new venture at
almost the same time that Hugh was entering upon his own.

Somewhat disconsolately the boy trudged on up the hot empty highway,
seeing ahead of him the big, ramshackle building that must be the hotel
and beyond that, at the end of the road, the shining blue of the lake.
He was vaguely conscious that, at every cottage window, white-headed
children of all sizes and ages bobbed up to stare at him and ducked
shyly out of sight again when they caught his eye. Between two houses he
looked down to a sunny field where a woman with a three-cornered yellow
kerchief on her head was helping some men at work. She did not look like
an American woman at all, Hugh thought as he stopped to watch her, but
walked on abashed when even she paused to look at him, leaning on her
rake and shading her eyes with her hand. He rather liked her looks,
somehow, even at that distance, she seemed so strong, in spite of her
slenderness and she handled her rake with such vigorous sunburned arms.

He raised his eyes to the circle of hills that hemmed in the little town
rising steeply from beyond the last row of houses and the irregular
patchwork of little fields. They were oddly shaped hills, rolling range
beyond range, higher and higher until, far in the distance there loomed
the jagged mass of one big enough to be called a mountain. The nearer
<DW72>s were covered with heavy woods of pine and birch, the dense trees
broken here and there by great masses of rock, black, gray or, more
often, strange clear shades of red.

“Red Lake derives its name,” so the atlas had stated in its
matter-of-fact fashion, “from the peculiar color of the jasper rock that
appears in such quantity along its shores.”

Hugh had never seen anything quite like that clear vermilion shade that
glowed dully against the black-green of the pines. Across the <DW72> of
the nearest hill, showing clear like a clean-cut scar, there stretched a
steep white road that wound sharply up to the summit and disappeared. He
began to feel vaguely that although the town attracted him little, the
road might lead to something of greater promise.

There were some men lounging before the door of the hotel when he
reached it, miners or lumberjacks wearing high boots and mackinaw coats.
They were talking in low tones and eyeing Hugh with open curiosity. Just
as he came to the steps, two figures shuffled silently past him, one,
the Indian he had seen at the station, the other, a broad-shouldered,
broad-waisted woman stooping under the heavy burden she carried on her
back. The man, erect and unimpeded, strode quickly forward, but she
stopped a moment to readjust the deerskin strap which passed over her
forehead and supported the heavy weight of her pack. She turned her
swarthy face toward Hugh and greeted him with a broad, friendly smile,
then bowed her head once more and trudged on after her master. The boy,
not used to the ways of Indian husbands