H.A. Cody

The Crimson Sign

Warsaw 2019

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER I

WHEN THE RAIDERS RETURNED

He was perched high upon the branch of a towering pine tree, his eyes fixed upon the river which wound like a silver thread through the forest wilderness. There were trees everywhere, trees covering the arching hills, trees in the crouching valleys and standing like great sentinels along the river’s banks. No sign of human life could be seen, and silence reigned supreme along the Saint John River in Acadia in the summer of sixteen hundred and ninety-six.

Seeing nothing of importance along that great inland waterway, Grey Martell was about to leave his lofty position when a large eagle swept by on strong majestic pinions, headed westward. It fascinated the watcher and thrilled his soul with a sudden interest.

“Ah, if I could only fly like that, it wouldn’t take me long to be away from here!” he exclaimed. “At the rate that fellow’s travelling it shouldn’t take him long to reach Fort Reliance. I wonder if Helen will see him.”

Reseating himself upon the branch which he had partly left, he thrust his hand into a pocket of his buckskin trousers and brought forth a piece of worn soiled paper. As he unfolded this, several capital letters were exposed to view. They formed no words, and seemed meaningless. But to the young man they evidently meant a great deal, for his eyesbrightened as he looked at them. Then a smile overspread his healthy sun-browned face.

“Wouldn’t Peter King like to know the meaning of these words. But he never will, although he has tried hard to find out. He can boast all he likes about his knowledge of the woods and their secrets, but he can’t understand these. Poor Pete!”

A low whistle drifted up through the branches of the pine, causing Grey to thrust the paper back into his pocket. In another minute he was descending the tree from limb to limb. Swift and noiseless as a panther he moved, and when at length he dropped upon the ground he looked cautiously around. This was due to the spirit of alertness which had been instilled into his soul during the years of his wilderness life. When unseen dangers lurked on every side caution was necessary. And it was so now when at any minute the hated enemy might appear.

As Grey Martell stood in this watching attitude, he presented a striking picture. Tall, lithe, and straight as an arrow, his well-shaped head poised upon strong square shoulders gave him a commanding appearance. The sleeves of his brown shirt were rolled to the elbows, exposing sun-tanned arms of great muscular strength. A light deer-skin cap rested jauntily upon his head, on the right side of which was fastened a small blood-red feather. This distinguishing mark was known far and wide, a pride to all entitled to wear it, but a menace to all enemies of the League of the Crimson Sign.

Again came the whistle, low and commanding. Grey smiled as he turned, glided among the trees and made his way carefully down a steep bank. He stopped at last by the side of a man sitting on alog holding a frying-pan over some hot coals. Close by flowed a placid stream, a tributary to the main river. A birchbark canoe, drawn up on the shore, contained several bundles of provisions and blankets, while two muskets were lying nearby ready for any emergency.

“Is supper ready?” Grey asked. “That meat smells good.”

“And it’s as good as it smells, my boy. It’s as tender as a chicken. Try a piece.”

Pete King was a powerfully-built man, with great chest and muscular arms. His wealth of iron-grey hair, beard trimmed to a point, and large moustache gave him the appearance of a Viking warrior of olden days. He was dressed in an old well-worn buckskin suit, and his feet were encased in deer-skin moccasins. His forehead, though not high, was broad, and his shaggy eyebrows formed a heavy canopy above his keen gray eyes which peered watchfully over his arching rampart-like nose. He was a king in more than name. He was a monarch among men, where strength, endurance and a shrewd active mind counted for more than a royal sceptre held in a jewelled hand.

As Grey began his attack upon the meat and a slice of coarse bread well soaked in gravy, Pete watched him with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

“I was afraid you had tumbled out of that pine, my boy.”

“What made you think that, Pete?”

“A mighty good reason. When a lad like you sits dreaming high up in a tree, there’s no telling what might happen.”

“But I wasn’t dreaming, Pete. I was watching the river, as you ordered."

“And didn’t see anything?”

“Nothing of the enemy. But I saw a great eagle flying westward.”

“And your thoughts went with it, I suppose?”

“They did, and if I had wings like that bird I’d soon be out of here.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve often told me that before. And you always feel worse after you get a letter from your dream, though it’s been some time since you got the last one. It must have had more love-charm in it than the others, for it’s taken longer to wear off.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s all about, Pete?”

“Oh, I can guess pretty well. But how you can make sense out of that jumble of letters is more than I can understand.”

Grey laughed as he laid his iron plate upon the ground and drew the letter from his pocket.

“I’m going to tell you something about this, Pete. It is our code system. Only Helen and I know what these letters mean. We have been communicating with each other in this way ever since our fathers became enemies, and Colonel Garland refused to let me visit Fort Reliance.”

“It’s a wonder the Colonel didn’t find out and stop the letters.”

“Oh, we have good friends who are helping us. The soldiers at the Fort would do anything for Helen.”

“H’m, trust a woman to bewitch men. It won’t be well for them if the Colonel ever hears. He’s a very stern man.”

“Indeed he is, and that was the cause of thetrouble with my father. In fact, they are both hot-headed, and–”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that, my boy. Your father was perfectly right, though, in asking the Colonel to send soldiers to protect his trading post from the French and the Indians. But it’s none of my business why the Colonel refused. Now, let me hear what that girl has to say.”

Grey smiled a little at his companion’s curiosity, and remained silent for a while.

“All right, you needn’t tell me if you don’t want to,” Pete declared. “I don’t care. Anyway, an old man such as I am should not bother about a silly love letter.”

“It’s interesting, though, and I know you are anxious to hear. Helen says it’s a shame that we have to be kept apart and can’t see each other because our fathers have quarrelled. She would like to run away and come here.”

“Well, well! So that’s what she says, eh? Come here! Lord! What would we do with her?”

“I guess you needn’t worry, Pete. She can’t come, so that’s the end of it.”

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