Chapter Twenty.Little Bill becomes a Difficulty.We must now pass over another winter, during which the Red River settlers had to sustain life as they best might—acquiring, however, in doing so, an expertness in the use of gun and trap and fishing-line, and in all the arts of the savages, which enabled them to act with more independence, and to sustain themselves and their families in greater comfort than before.Spring, with all its brightness, warmth, and suggestiveness had returned to cheer the hearts of men; and, really, those who have never experienced the long six-or-eight-months’ winter of Rupert’s Land can form no conception of the feelings with which the body—to say nothing of the soul—opens up and expands itself, so to speak, in order to receive and fully appreciate the sweet influences of spring.For one thing, seven or eight months of cold, biting, steely frost causes one almost to forget that there ever was such a thing as summer heat, summer scents, summer sounds, or summer skies. The first thaw is therefore like the glad, unexpected meeting of a dear old friend; and the trumpet voice of the first goose, the whirring wing of the first duck, and the whistle of the first plover, sounds like the music of the spheres to one’s long unaccustomed ears. Then the trickle of water gives one something like a new sensation. It may be but a thread of liquid no thicker than a pipe-stem faintly heard by an attentive ear tinkling in the cold depths far under the ice or snow, but it is liquid, not solid, water. It is suggestive of motion. It had almost been forgotten as a sound of the long past which had forsaken the terrestrial ball for ever.It does not take a powerful imagination to swell a tiny stream to a rivulet, a river, a lake, a mighty ocean. Shut your eyes for a moment, and, in memory, the ice and snow vanish; the streams flow as in the days of old; flowers come again to gladden the eyes and—but why trouble you, good reader, with all this? We feel, sadly, that unless you have tasted the northern winter no description, however graphic, will enable you to drink in the spirit of the northern spring.About this time Okématan, the Cree chief, took it into his head that he would go a-hunting.This last word does not suggest to a dweller in the wilderness that crossing of ploughed lands on horseback, and leaping of hedges, etcetera, which it conveys to the mind of an Englishman. The Cree chief’s notion of spring-hunting was, getting into a birch-bark canoe, with or without a comrade, and going forth on the lakes and rivers of the wilderness with plenty of powder and shot, to visit the native home of the wild-goose, the wild-duck, the pelican, the plover, and the swan.For such a trip not much is essential. Besides the gun and ammunition referred to, Okématan carried a blanket, a hatchet, several extra pairs of moccasins, a tin kettle in which to boil food, a fire-bag for steel, flint, and tinder, with a small supply of tobacco.On hearing of his intention, Dan Davidson resolved to accompany him. Dan had by that time associated so much with the chief that he had learned to speak his language with facility. Indeed nearly all the settlers who had a turn for languages had by that time acquired a smattering more or less of Indian and French.“You see,” said Dan to the chief, “there is not much doing on the farm just now, and I want to see a little of the country round about, so, if you don’t object to my company, I’d like to go.”“The Cree chief will be proud to have the company of the Paleface chief,” replied the Indian, with grave courtesy.Dan wanted to say “All right,” but was ignorant of the Cree equivalent for that familiar phrase; he therefore substituted the more sober and correct, “It is well.”“But,” said he, “you must not call me a Paleface chief, for I am only an ordinary man in my own land—what you would call one of the braves.”“Okématan is thought to have a good judgment among his people,” returned the Indian, “though he has not the snows of many winters on his head, and he thinks that if Dan’el had stayed in the wigwams of his people beyond the Great Salt Lake, he would have been a chief.”“It may be so, Okématan, though I doubt it,” replied Dan, “but that is a point which cannot now be proved. Meanwhile, my ambition at present is to become a great hunter, and I want you to teach me.”The chief, who was gratified by the way in which this was put, gladly agreed to the proposal.“There is another man who would like to go with us,” said Davidson. “My friend, Fergus McKay, is anxious, I know, to see more of the lands of the Indian. You have no objection to his going, I suppose?—in another canoe of course, for three would be too many in your small canoe.”Okématan had no objection.“Three would not be too many in the canoe,” he said, “but two are better for hunting.”“Very good. But we will want a fourth to make two in each canoe. Whom shall we invite?”“Okématan’s counsel is,” answered the chief, “to take a brave who is young and strong and active; whose eye is quick and his hand steady; whose heart never comes into his throat when danger faces him; whose face does not grow pale at the sight of approaching death; whose heart is as the heart of the grisly bear for courage, and yet tender as the heart of a Paleface squaw; whose hand can accomplish whatever his head plans, and whose tongue is able to make a sick man smile.”Davidson smiled to himself at this description, which the chief uttered with the sententious gravity that would have characterised his speech and bearing in a council of war.“A most notable comrade, good Okématan; but where are we to find him, for I know nobody who comes near to that description.”“He dwells in your own wigwam,” returned the chief.“In Prairie Cottage?” exclaimed the other with a puzzled air. “You can’t mean my brother Peter, surely, for he is about as grave as yourself.”“Okématan means the young brave who loves his little brother.”“What! Archie Sinclair?” exclaimed Dan, with a surprised look. “I had no idea you had so high an opinion of him.”“Okématan has seen much of Arch-ee: has watched him. He sees that he thinks nothing of himself; that he thinks always for the sick brother, Leetle Beel, and that he will yet be a great chief among the Palefaces.”“Well, now you come to mention it, thereissomething about Archie that puts him high above other boys; and I suppose his unselfishness has much to do with it; but don’t you think he’s too young, and hardly strong enough?”“He is not young. He is fifty years old in wisdom. He is very strong for his size, and he iswilling, which makes his strength double.”“But he will never consent to leave Little Bill,” said Dan.“Okématan had fears of that,” returned the Indian, with, for the first time, a look of perplexity on his face. “If Arch-ee will not go without Leetle Beel, Leetle Beel must go too.”It was found, on inquiry, that they were right in their surmise. When the proposal was made to Archie that afternoon by Dan, the boy’s eyes seemed to light up and dance in his head at the prospect. Then the light suddenly went out, and the dancing ceased.“Why, what’s the matter, Archie?” asked his friend.“Can’t go. Impossible!” said Archie.“Why not?”“Who’s to look after Little Bill, I should like to know, if I leave him?”“Elspie, of course,” said Dan, “and Elise, to say nothing of Jessie, mother, and brother Peter.”Archie shook his head.“No,” he said, “no! I can’t go. Elspie is all very well in her way, and so is Elise, buttheycan’t carry Little Bill about the fields and through the bush on their backs; and Peter wouldn’t; he’s too busy about the farm. No—ever since mother died, I’ve stuck to Little Bill through thick and thin. So Iwon’tgo.”It was so evident that Archie Sinclair’s mind was made up and fixed, and also so obvious that a delicate little boy would be a great encumbrance on a hunting expedition that Dan thought of attempting the expedient of winning Little Bill himself over to his side. He had no difficulty in doing that, for Billie was to the full as amiable and unselfish as his brother. After a short conversation, he made Billie promise to do his very best to induce Archie to go with the hunters and leave him behind.“For you know, Little Bill,” said Dan in conclusion, and by way of consoling him, “although nobody could take such good care of you as Archie, or make up to you for him, Elspie would take his place very well for a time—.”“O yes, I know that well enough,” said the poor boy with some enthusiasm; “Elspie is always very good to me. You’ve no notion how nice she is, Dan.”“Hm! well, I have got a sort of a half notion, maybe,” returned Dan with a peculiar look. “But that’s all right, then. You’ll do what you can to persuade Archie, and—there he is, evidently coming to see you, so I’ll go and leave you to talk it over with him.”Billie did not give his brother time to begin, but accosted him on his entrance with—“I’m so glad, Archie, that you’ve been asked to go on this hunting expe—”“O! you’ve heard of it, then?”“Yes, and I want you to go, very very much, because—because—”“Don’t trouble yourself withbecauses, Little Bill, for I won’t go. So there’s an end of it—unless,” he added, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, “unless they agree to take you with them. They might do worse. I’ll see about that.”So saying, Archie turned about, left the room as abruptly as he had entered it, and sought out Okématan. He found that chief sitting in La Certe’s wigwam, involved in the mists of meditation and tobacco-smoke, gazing at Slowfoot.That worthy woman—who, with her lord and little child, was wont to forsake her hut in spring, and go into the summer-quarters of a wigwam—was seated on the opposite side of a small fire, enduring Okématan’s meditative gaze, either unconsciously or with supreme indifference.“Hallo! Oké,”—thus irreverently did Archie address the chief—had any one else ventured to do so, he might possibly have been scalped—“Hallo! Oké, I’ve been huntin’ for you all round. You’re worse to find than an arrow in the grass.”It may be said, here, that Archie had learned, like some of the other settlers, a smattering of the Cree language. How he expressed the above we know not. We can only give the sense as he would probably have given it in his own tongue.“Okématan’s friends can always find him,” answered the Indian with a grave but pleased look.“So it seems. But I say, Oké, I want to ask a favour of you. Dan Davidson tells me you want me to go a-hunting with you. Well, I’m your man if you’ll let me take Little Bill with me. Will you?”“Leetle Beel is not strong,” objected the Indian.“True, but a trip o’ this sort will make him strong perhaps. Anyhow, it will make him stronger.”“But for a sick boy there is danger,” said the chief. “If Arch-ee upsets his canoe in a rapid, Arch-ee swims on shore, but Leetle Beel goes to the bottom.”“Not as long as Arch-ee is there to hold him up,” returned the boy.“Waugh!” exclaimed the Indian.“Humph!” remarked the boy. “What d’ye mean by ‘Waugh,’ Oké?”“Okématan means much that it is not in the power of the tongue to tell,” replied the Indian with increasing gravity; and as the gravity increased the cloudlets from his lips became more voluminous.“Arch-ee hopes, nevertheless, that the tongue of Oké may find power to tell him a little of what he thinks.”This being in some degree indefinite, the chief smoked in silence for a minute or two, and gazed at Slowfoot with that dreamy air which one assumes when gazing into the depths of a suggestive fire. Apparently inspiration came at last—whether from Slowfoot or not we cannot tell—for he turned solemnly to the boy.“Rain comes,” he said, “and when sick men get wet they grow sicker. Carrying-places come, and when sick men come to them they stagger and fall. Frost often comes in spring, and when sick men get cold they die. Waugh!”“Humph!” repeated the boy again, with a solemnity quite equal to that of the Red-man.“When rain comes I can put up an umbrella—anumbrella. D’you know what that is?”The Indian shook his head.“Well it’s a—a thing—a sort of little tent—a wigwam, you know, with a stick in the middle to hold on to and put it up. D’you understand?”An expression of blank bewilderment, so to speak, settled on the chief’s visage, and the lights of intelligence went out one by one until he presented an appearance which all but put the boy’s gravity to flight.“Well, well, it’s of no use my tryin’ to explain it,” he continued. “I’ll show it to you soon, and then you’ll understand.”Intelligence began to return, and the chief looked gratified.“What you call it?” he asked—for he was of an inquiring disposition— “a bum-rella?”“No, no,” replied the other, seriously, “an umbrella. It’s a clever contrivance, as you shall see. So, you see, I can keep the rain off Little Bill when he’s in the canoe, and on shore there are the trees, and the canoe itself turned bottom up. Then, at carryin’ places, I can carry Little Bill as well as other things. He’s not heavy and doesn’t struggle, so we won’t leave him to stagger and fall. As to frost—have we not hatchets, and are there not dead trees in the forest? Frost and fire never walk in company, so that Little Bill won’t get cold and die, for we’ll keep him warm—waugh!”When human beings are fond of each other disagreement seldom lasts long. Okématan had taken so strong a fancy to Archie that he felt it impossible to hold out; therefore, being a man of strong common sense, he did not attempt the impossible.Thus it came to pass that, two days later, a couple of birch-bark canoes were launched on the waters of Red River, with Dan Davidson in the stern of one and Fergus McKay acting as his bowman. Okématan took the stern of the other, while Archie Sinclair wielded the bow-paddle, and Little Bill was placed in the middle on a comfortable green blanket with the celebrated “bum-rella” erected over him to keep off, not the rain, but, the too glorious sunshine.
We must now pass over another winter, during which the Red River settlers had to sustain life as they best might—acquiring, however, in doing so, an expertness in the use of gun and trap and fishing-line, and in all the arts of the savages, which enabled them to act with more independence, and to sustain themselves and their families in greater comfort than before.
Spring, with all its brightness, warmth, and suggestiveness had returned to cheer the hearts of men; and, really, those who have never experienced the long six-or-eight-months’ winter of Rupert’s Land can form no conception of the feelings with which the body—to say nothing of the soul—opens up and expands itself, so to speak, in order to receive and fully appreciate the sweet influences of spring.
For one thing, seven or eight months of cold, biting, steely frost causes one almost to forget that there ever was such a thing as summer heat, summer scents, summer sounds, or summer skies. The first thaw is therefore like the glad, unexpected meeting of a dear old friend; and the trumpet voice of the first goose, the whirring wing of the first duck, and the whistle of the first plover, sounds like the music of the spheres to one’s long unaccustomed ears. Then the trickle of water gives one something like a new sensation. It may be but a thread of liquid no thicker than a pipe-stem faintly heard by an attentive ear tinkling in the cold depths far under the ice or snow, but it is liquid, not solid, water. It is suggestive of motion. It had almost been forgotten as a sound of the long past which had forsaken the terrestrial ball for ever.
It does not take a powerful imagination to swell a tiny stream to a rivulet, a river, a lake, a mighty ocean. Shut your eyes for a moment, and, in memory, the ice and snow vanish; the streams flow as in the days of old; flowers come again to gladden the eyes and—but why trouble you, good reader, with all this? We feel, sadly, that unless you have tasted the northern winter no description, however graphic, will enable you to drink in the spirit of the northern spring.
About this time Okématan, the Cree chief, took it into his head that he would go a-hunting.
This last word does not suggest to a dweller in the wilderness that crossing of ploughed lands on horseback, and leaping of hedges, etcetera, which it conveys to the mind of an Englishman. The Cree chief’s notion of spring-hunting was, getting into a birch-bark canoe, with or without a comrade, and going forth on the lakes and rivers of the wilderness with plenty of powder and shot, to visit the native home of the wild-goose, the wild-duck, the pelican, the plover, and the swan.
For such a trip not much is essential. Besides the gun and ammunition referred to, Okématan carried a blanket, a hatchet, several extra pairs of moccasins, a tin kettle in which to boil food, a fire-bag for steel, flint, and tinder, with a small supply of tobacco.
On hearing of his intention, Dan Davidson resolved to accompany him. Dan had by that time associated so much with the chief that he had learned to speak his language with facility. Indeed nearly all the settlers who had a turn for languages had by that time acquired a smattering more or less of Indian and French.
“You see,” said Dan to the chief, “there is not much doing on the farm just now, and I want to see a little of the country round about, so, if you don’t object to my company, I’d like to go.”
“The Cree chief will be proud to have the company of the Paleface chief,” replied the Indian, with grave courtesy.
Dan wanted to say “All right,” but was ignorant of the Cree equivalent for that familiar phrase; he therefore substituted the more sober and correct, “It is well.”
“But,” said he, “you must not call me a Paleface chief, for I am only an ordinary man in my own land—what you would call one of the braves.”
“Okématan is thought to have a good judgment among his people,” returned the Indian, “though he has not the snows of many winters on his head, and he thinks that if Dan’el had stayed in the wigwams of his people beyond the Great Salt Lake, he would have been a chief.”
“It may be so, Okématan, though I doubt it,” replied Dan, “but that is a point which cannot now be proved. Meanwhile, my ambition at present is to become a great hunter, and I want you to teach me.”
The chief, who was gratified by the way in which this was put, gladly agreed to the proposal.
“There is another man who would like to go with us,” said Davidson. “My friend, Fergus McKay, is anxious, I know, to see more of the lands of the Indian. You have no objection to his going, I suppose?—in another canoe of course, for three would be too many in your small canoe.”
Okématan had no objection.
“Three would not be too many in the canoe,” he said, “but two are better for hunting.”
“Very good. But we will want a fourth to make two in each canoe. Whom shall we invite?”
“Okématan’s counsel is,” answered the chief, “to take a brave who is young and strong and active; whose eye is quick and his hand steady; whose heart never comes into his throat when danger faces him; whose face does not grow pale at the sight of approaching death; whose heart is as the heart of the grisly bear for courage, and yet tender as the heart of a Paleface squaw; whose hand can accomplish whatever his head plans, and whose tongue is able to make a sick man smile.”
Davidson smiled to himself at this description, which the chief uttered with the sententious gravity that would have characterised his speech and bearing in a council of war.
“A most notable comrade, good Okématan; but where are we to find him, for I know nobody who comes near to that description.”
“He dwells in your own wigwam,” returned the chief.
“In Prairie Cottage?” exclaimed the other with a puzzled air. “You can’t mean my brother Peter, surely, for he is about as grave as yourself.”
“Okématan means the young brave who loves his little brother.”
“What! Archie Sinclair?” exclaimed Dan, with a surprised look. “I had no idea you had so high an opinion of him.”
“Okématan has seen much of Arch-ee: has watched him. He sees that he thinks nothing of himself; that he thinks always for the sick brother, Leetle Beel, and that he will yet be a great chief among the Palefaces.”
“Well, now you come to mention it, thereissomething about Archie that puts him high above other boys; and I suppose his unselfishness has much to do with it; but don’t you think he’s too young, and hardly strong enough?”
“He is not young. He is fifty years old in wisdom. He is very strong for his size, and he iswilling, which makes his strength double.”
“But he will never consent to leave Little Bill,” said Dan.
“Okématan had fears of that,” returned the Indian, with, for the first time, a look of perplexity on his face. “If Arch-ee will not go without Leetle Beel, Leetle Beel must go too.”
It was found, on inquiry, that they were right in their surmise. When the proposal was made to Archie that afternoon by Dan, the boy’s eyes seemed to light up and dance in his head at the prospect. Then the light suddenly went out, and the dancing ceased.
“Why, what’s the matter, Archie?” asked his friend.
“Can’t go. Impossible!” said Archie.
“Why not?”
“Who’s to look after Little Bill, I should like to know, if I leave him?”
“Elspie, of course,” said Dan, “and Elise, to say nothing of Jessie, mother, and brother Peter.”
Archie shook his head.
“No,” he said, “no! I can’t go. Elspie is all very well in her way, and so is Elise, buttheycan’t carry Little Bill about the fields and through the bush on their backs; and Peter wouldn’t; he’s too busy about the farm. No—ever since mother died, I’ve stuck to Little Bill through thick and thin. So Iwon’tgo.”
It was so evident that Archie Sinclair’s mind was made up and fixed, and also so obvious that a delicate little boy would be a great encumbrance on a hunting expedition that Dan thought of attempting the expedient of winning Little Bill himself over to his side. He had no difficulty in doing that, for Billie was to the full as amiable and unselfish as his brother. After a short conversation, he made Billie promise to do his very best to induce Archie to go with the hunters and leave him behind.
“For you know, Little Bill,” said Dan in conclusion, and by way of consoling him, “although nobody could take such good care of you as Archie, or make up to you for him, Elspie would take his place very well for a time—.”
“O yes, I know that well enough,” said the poor boy with some enthusiasm; “Elspie is always very good to me. You’ve no notion how nice she is, Dan.”
“Hm! well, I have got a sort of a half notion, maybe,” returned Dan with a peculiar look. “But that’s all right, then. You’ll do what you can to persuade Archie, and—there he is, evidently coming to see you, so I’ll go and leave you to talk it over with him.”
Billie did not give his brother time to begin, but accosted him on his entrance with—“I’m so glad, Archie, that you’ve been asked to go on this hunting expe—”
“O! you’ve heard of it, then?”
“Yes, and I want you to go, very very much, because—because—”
“Don’t trouble yourself withbecauses, Little Bill, for I won’t go. So there’s an end of it—unless,” he added, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, “unless they agree to take you with them. They might do worse. I’ll see about that.”
So saying, Archie turned about, left the room as abruptly as he had entered it, and sought out Okématan. He found that chief sitting in La Certe’s wigwam, involved in the mists of meditation and tobacco-smoke, gazing at Slowfoot.
That worthy woman—who, with her lord and little child, was wont to forsake her hut in spring, and go into the summer-quarters of a wigwam—was seated on the opposite side of a small fire, enduring Okématan’s meditative gaze, either unconsciously or with supreme indifference.
“Hallo! Oké,”—thus irreverently did Archie address the chief—had any one else ventured to do so, he might possibly have been scalped—“Hallo! Oké, I’ve been huntin’ for you all round. You’re worse to find than an arrow in the grass.”
It may be said, here, that Archie had learned, like some of the other settlers, a smattering of the Cree language. How he expressed the above we know not. We can only give the sense as he would probably have given it in his own tongue.
“Okématan’s friends can always find him,” answered the Indian with a grave but pleased look.
“So it seems. But I say, Oké, I want to ask a favour of you. Dan Davidson tells me you want me to go a-hunting with you. Well, I’m your man if you’ll let me take Little Bill with me. Will you?”
“Leetle Beel is not strong,” objected the Indian.
“True, but a trip o’ this sort will make him strong perhaps. Anyhow, it will make him stronger.”
“But for a sick boy there is danger,” said the chief. “If Arch-ee upsets his canoe in a rapid, Arch-ee swims on shore, but Leetle Beel goes to the bottom.”
“Not as long as Arch-ee is there to hold him up,” returned the boy.
“Waugh!” exclaimed the Indian.
“Humph!” remarked the boy. “What d’ye mean by ‘Waugh,’ Oké?”
“Okématan means much that it is not in the power of the tongue to tell,” replied the Indian with increasing gravity; and as the gravity increased the cloudlets from his lips became more voluminous.
“Arch-ee hopes, nevertheless, that the tongue of Oké may find power to tell him a little of what he thinks.”
This being in some degree indefinite, the chief smoked in silence for a minute or two, and gazed at Slowfoot with that dreamy air which one assumes when gazing into the depths of a suggestive fire. Apparently inspiration came at last—whether from Slowfoot or not we cannot tell—for he turned solemnly to the boy.
“Rain comes,” he said, “and when sick men get wet they grow sicker. Carrying-places come, and when sick men come to them they stagger and fall. Frost often comes in spring, and when sick men get cold they die. Waugh!”
“Humph!” repeated the boy again, with a solemnity quite equal to that of the Red-man.
“When rain comes I can put up an umbrella—anumbrella. D’you know what that is?”
The Indian shook his head.
“Well it’s a—a thing—a sort of little tent—a wigwam, you know, with a stick in the middle to hold on to and put it up. D’you understand?”
An expression of blank bewilderment, so to speak, settled on the chief’s visage, and the lights of intelligence went out one by one until he presented an appearance which all but put the boy’s gravity to flight.
“Well, well, it’s of no use my tryin’ to explain it,” he continued. “I’ll show it to you soon, and then you’ll understand.”
Intelligence began to return, and the chief looked gratified.
“What you call it?” he asked—for he was of an inquiring disposition— “a bum-rella?”
“No, no,” replied the other, seriously, “an umbrella. It’s a clever contrivance, as you shall see. So, you see, I can keep the rain off Little Bill when he’s in the canoe, and on shore there are the trees, and the canoe itself turned bottom up. Then, at carryin’ places, I can carry Little Bill as well as other things. He’s not heavy and doesn’t struggle, so we won’t leave him to stagger and fall. As to frost—have we not hatchets, and are there not dead trees in the forest? Frost and fire never walk in company, so that Little Bill won’t get cold and die, for we’ll keep him warm—waugh!”
When human beings are fond of each other disagreement seldom lasts long. Okématan had taken so strong a fancy to Archie that he felt it impossible to hold out; therefore, being a man of strong common sense, he did not attempt the impossible.
Thus it came to pass that, two days later, a couple of birch-bark canoes were launched on the waters of Red River, with Dan Davidson in the stern of one and Fergus McKay acting as his bowman. Okématan took the stern of the other, while Archie Sinclair wielded the bow-paddle, and Little Bill was placed in the middle on a comfortable green blanket with the celebrated “bum-rella” erected over him to keep off, not the rain, but, the too glorious sunshine.
Chapter Twenty One.An Auspicious Beginning and Suspicious Ending.Let loose in the wilderness! How romantic, how inexpressibly delightful, that idea seems to some minds! Ay, even when the weight of years begins to stiffen the joints and slack the cords of life the memory of God’s great, wild, untrammelled, beautiful wilderness comes over the spirit like a refreshing dream and restores for a time something like the pulse of youth.We sometimes think what a joy it would be if youth could pass through its blessings with the intelligent experience of age. And it may be that this is to be one of the joys of the future, when man, redeemed and delivered from sin by Jesus Christ, shall find that the memory of the sorrows, sufferings, weaknesses of the past shall add inconceivably to the joys of the present. It may be so. Judging from analogy it does not seem presumptuous to suppose and hope that it will be so.“Sufficient unto the day,” however, is the joy thereof.When the two canoes pushed off and swept rapidly over the fair bosom of Red River, the heart of Archie Sinclair bounded with a feeling of exultant joy which it would have been very hard indeed to convince him was capable of increase, while the bosom of his invalid brother was filled with a sort of calm serenity which constituted, in his opinion at the time being, a quite sufficient amount of felicity.When we add that the other hunters were, in their several ways, pretty much in the same condition as the boys, we have said enough to justify the remark that their circumstances were inexpressibly delightful.Proceeding some distance up stream they finally diverged into a minor tributary which led to waters that were swarming with water-fowl and other game.“This is a grand burst, Little Bill,” said Archie, as he plied his paddle vigorously, and glanced over his shoulder at the invalid behind him.“Prime!” answered Billie. “Isn’t it?” he added, with a backward glance at Okématan.“Waugh!” replied the reticent savage.“Ay, ‘Waugh!’ that’s all you’ll get out of him when he’s puzzled,” said Archie; “though what he means by it is more than I know. You must speak respectable English to a Red-skin if you want to convince him. Why, if he had understood you literally, you know—and obeyed you—he’d have had something to do immediately with the lock of his gun.”“I have often wondered, Archie,” returned his brother with a languid smile, “what a lot you manage to say sometimes with nothing in it.”“Ha! ha!—ho! ho! what a wag you’re becoming, Little Bill. But I thank ’ee for the compliment, for you know it’s only philosophers that can say an awful lot without a’most sayin’ anything at all. Look at Oké there, now, what a depth of stupidity lies behind his brown visage; what bucketsful of ignorance swell out his black pate, but he expresses it all in the single word ‘Waugh!’ because he’s a philosopher. If he was like La Certe, he’d jabber away to us by the hour of things he knows nothin’ about, and tell us long stories that are nothin’ less than big lies. I’m glad you think me a philosopher, Little Bill, for it takes all the philosophy I’ve got to keep me up to the scratch of goin’ about the world wi’ you on my back. Why, I’m a regular Sindbad the Sailor, only I’m saddled with a young man o’ the plains instead of an old man of the sea. D’ee understand what I’m saying, Oké?”The chief, who understood little more than that his own name and that of La Certe were mentioned, nodded his head gravely and allowed the corners of his mouth to droop, which was his peculiar way of smiling—a smile that might have been unintelligible to his friends had it not been relieved and interpreted by a decided twinkle in his eyes.While they were conversing, the two canoes had rounded a rocky point and swept out upon a lake-like expanse in the river, which was perfectly smooth and apparently currentless. Several islets studded its calm breast and were reflected in the clear water. These were wooded to the water’s edge, and from among the sedges near their margin several flocks of wild-fowl sprang up in alarm and went off in fluttering confusion.It chanced that just then a trumpet-like note was heard overhead, as a flock of wild geese passed the spot and came suddenly close within range of the canoes which had been concealed from them by the bushes that fringed the river.Guns were seized at once by the bowmen in each canoe, but Archie was smarter than Fergus. Before the Highlander had got the weapon well into his hands the boy fired and one of the flock fell into the river with a heavy plunge.Little Bill signalised the successful shot with a high-toned cheer, and the Indian with a low-toned “Waugh,” while Fergus made a hurried and therefore bad, shot at the scared flock.“That wass a fery good shot, Archie,” remarked Fergus, as the canoes ranged up alongside of the dead bird.“Yours was a very good one, too, Fergus,” returned the boy; “only not quite straight.”The smile on the face of Okématan proved that he understood the drift of the reply, and that this was the style of humour he appreciated so highly in his young friend. We civilised people may wonder a little at the simplicity of the savage, but when we reflect that the chief had been born and bred among the solemnities of the wilderness, and had been up to that time wholly unacquainted with the humours and pleasantries that sometimes accompany juvenile “cheek,” our wonder may perhaps be subdued.“This would be a splendid place to camp for the rest of the day,” suggested Davidson, while they rested on their paddles after the goose had been secured. “We must lay in a small stock of fresh provisions, you know, if we are to push on to-morrow or next day to our hunting ground. What say you, Okématan?” he added in Cree, turning to their guide.“The will of the Paleface chief is the wish of Okématan. Let him speak.”“Well, then, I vote for encamping on the small island over there, in the middle o’ the lake—for it’s far more like a lake than a river hereabouts—that one over which the hawk is hovering.”“I vote for it too,” said Archie.“So do I,” chimed in Little Bill.“I will be sayin’ ditto to that,” put in Fergus.“Moreover,” suggested Dan, “I vote for roasting the goose at once.”“Ay, and eating him right away,” said Archie. As the invalid followed this up with a feeble cheer, the proposal was carried into effect without delay.The islet was low and flat, and so thickly covered with bush that it afforded a most enticing spot for a night-encampment. There was also plenty of dead wood on it, with which to replenish the fire, and various peeps through sundry openings afforded exquisite views of woodland and river with which to charm the eyes. Over all, the sun was pouring his noontide rays in a glorious flood.We need not waste time in going into the details of the feast that followed: how the goose was delightfully plump and tender—especially tender to teeth that would have scarcely observed the difference if it had been tough—how, in addition to the goose, they had wild-ducks enough—shot earlier in the day—to afford each one a duck to himself, leaving a brace over, of which Okématan ate one, as well as his share of the goose, and seemed to wish that he might eat the other, but he didn’t, for he restrained himself; how they drank tea with as much gusto and intemperance as if it had been a modern “afternoon”; and how, after all was over, the Red-man filled the pipe-head on the back of his iron tomahawk and began to smoke with the air of a man who meant business and regarded all that had gone before as mere child’s-play.The afternoon was well advanced when the feast was concluded, for appetites in the wilderness are not easily or soon satisfied.“I feel tight,” said Billie with a sigh and something of pathos in his tone, when he at last laid down his knife—we cannot add fork, for they scorned such implements at that time.“That’s right, Little Bill,” said Archie, “try another leg or wing—now, don’t shake your head. We’ve come on this trip a-purpose to make you fat an’ strong. So you must—here, try this drum-stick. It’s only a little one, like yourself, Billie.”“True, Archie, but I’m too little to hold it. I feel like an egg now.”“Hallo! Oké, are you overcome already?” asked Archie.“The sun sinks to rest at night and the birds go to sleep. If we intend to hunt we must begin now.”“It’s always the way,” returned the boy with an air of discontent; “whenever a fellow gets into a state of extreme jollity there’s sure to be something bothersome to come and interrupt us. Obfusticate your faculties with some more smoke, Oké, till Billie and I finish our tea. We can’t shoot with half-empty stomachs, you know.”“They must be three-quarters full by this time—whatever,” remarked Fergus, wiping his clasp-knife on the grass.Just then, Dan Davidson, who had gone to explore the islet, returned with the information that some hunters must have recently visited the same place, for he had discovered the remains of an encampment at the extreme eastern side, which looked as if it had been recently occupied, for bones of wild-fowl were scattered about, the meat on which was neither dried nor decayed.On hearing this, Okématan rose quickly, put out his pipe, and stuck the tomahawk in his belt. The sluggish good-natured air of contentment with which he had been smoking vanished; the half-sleepy eyes opened, and a frown rested on his brow as he said, shortly—“Okématan goes to look.”“May I go with you?” asked Dan.“No. Okématan goes alone. It is known that a band of Saulteaux have been seen. They are roused just now by the actions of the great white chief and the words of my Nation. Rest here till I come. Go on eating. If they are here they may be watching us now.”“D’ee hear that, Little Bill? You’ve got to go on eating,” said Archie. “Our guide commands it. If you disobey, the rascally Saulteaux will come down upon us somehow.”But Archie’s light-heartedness was not shared by his older companions. They knew too well that the disturbed state of the country at the time, and especially the ill-will engendered between the Crees and Saulteaux by the ill-advised action of Lord Selkirk’s agents, rendered an explosion not improbable at any time, and a certain feeling of disappointment came over them when they reflected that the hunting expedition, which they had entered on with so much enthusiastic hope, might perhaps be brought to an abrupt close.“If there’s to be any fighting I shall only be in your way,” said the invalid in a tone in which there was much of sadness, though none of fear.“Not a bit of it, Little Bill,” returned Dan, quickly. “You’ll be in nobody’s way in the canoes. You’re as light as a feather. If we had even to take to the bush, Archie could run with you; an’ when he gets tired, Fergus and I would think no more o’ you than a grasshopper.”“Iss it carryin’ him you will be taalkin’ of?” said Fergus. “Ay, ay! I would be forgettin’ that he wass on my back if I had him there.”As he spoke, the Indian returned to the camp with the cat-like tread so characteristic of the Red-man.“A big band has been here,” he said. “They slept on the island last night, and the signs show that they do not come as friends.”“Are you sure of that?” asked Dan.“Okématan is sure of nothing. Even the sun may not rise to-morrow.”“Had we not better, then, return at once to the Settlement, and tell what we have seen?” said Dan.“If we did, the Saulteaux would see us and give chase. Their canoes are big and have strong men in them. They would overtake us soon and our scalps would be swinging at their belts to-morrow.”“Not pleesant to think of—whatever,” said Fergus.“What, then, do you advise?” asked Dan. “You understand the ways of the wilderness, and we will follow your lead.”The chief appeared to think for a few moments.“We will remain where we are,” he said; “only we will send the boys off in one of the canoes, as if to shoot some ducks for us. The Saulteaux will think that we are lazy, idle men, who like to lie in camp and sleep or smoke while the boys hunt for us. When night comes we will escape in the dark and go down the river to warn the settlers.”“But what if they attack us before night comes on?” asked Dan.“They will not do that,” answered the Indian, gravely. “They know that we are well supplied with powder and shot. They know that some one must lead in every attack, and that such leaders would be doomed to death. Saulteaux do not love death. They prefer life. They will not come till it is dark.”“Ha! ha!” laughed Fergus, who seemed greatly tickled with the latter part of the chief’s observation, “fery goot! ho! fery goot!—they do not love death, an’ it iss life they will be preferrin’. Ay, ay! It iss the Heelandman that will be of much the same opeenion, only, when fightin’ hes got to be done, he’s not afraid to do it in daylight.”“He may not be afraid, Fergus,” said Dan, “yet I suspect that the Red-man’s tactics are often the wisest, for what would be the use of making an attack in daylight, at the cost of several lives, when the attack might be made quite as well, if not better, at night, without the loss, perhaps, of any life at all?”“I will not be sayin’,” returned Fergus, who was of an argumentative disposition, “anything at all about attackin’ by day or by night. I will only be remarkin’ that the Heelandman iss like the savitch in that he prefers life to death.”“Come along to the fire, Fergus,” said Dan, laughing; “I will argue that out with you.”“It will be difficult to argue, then, for there iss no argument in it at all. It is only a statement of opeenion.”“Well, but surely it is possible to controvert your opinion! Besides, we are somewhat exposed where we stand. Even an arrow might reach us from the near bank.”“Never you fear, Tan. They will not be so foolish as to fire now, instead of attack at night. They are sly—whatever.”While the two friends were thus conversing, the Cree chief was arranging the smaller of the canoes for the use of the young hunters—that is, he took out all the lading, making it so light that it would skim over the water like an egg-shell with the slightest impulse of the paddle.“You’ll have to put a big stone in the stern, Oké,” said Archie, “to make up for Little Bill’s lightness—”“For your heaviness, you mean,” interrupted the invalid.“No; I mean what I say, Billie, for you are light-headed as well as light-hearted—a sort o’ human balloon, ready to go up like a rocket at any time—so that even an or’nary man like me weighs you down. Besides, Oké, he steers better than me and I shoot better than him. Also, I like the hardest work, so I always take the bow.”Arranging things according to directions, the Indian held the canoe steady while the brothers stepped carefully in—for they had learned from experience that the birch-bark canoe, besides being easily broken, is apt to overturn on small provocation.“Let not Arch-ee go near the river-bank on either side,” said the chief in a warning voice, as he was about to shove the frail bark out upon the glassy water. “The Saulteaux might catch him. And let him not go far up or down stream. Let him keep among the reeds round the island. There are many ducks there. Shoot plenty, as if Arch-ee had no suspicion—no fear of Indians.”“I say, Oké,” demanded the lad, with what was meant for an overwhelming frown, “do you mean to hint that Ihaveany fear of the Indians?”“Okématan has the belief that Arch-ee never knew fear at all,” returned the chief, earnestly; “that he has the courage of the young buffalo-bull.”“Well, I’m not quite so sure o’ that,” returned the boy, with a modest look. “I would not myself put it quite so strong, you know. But you’re a wise chief, and I hope you’ve got a lot of brothers as wise as yourself. Good-bye, Oké—shove off. Now, then, mind how you steer, Little Bill.”
Let loose in the wilderness! How romantic, how inexpressibly delightful, that idea seems to some minds! Ay, even when the weight of years begins to stiffen the joints and slack the cords of life the memory of God’s great, wild, untrammelled, beautiful wilderness comes over the spirit like a refreshing dream and restores for a time something like the pulse of youth.
We sometimes think what a joy it would be if youth could pass through its blessings with the intelligent experience of age. And it may be that this is to be one of the joys of the future, when man, redeemed and delivered from sin by Jesus Christ, shall find that the memory of the sorrows, sufferings, weaknesses of the past shall add inconceivably to the joys of the present. It may be so. Judging from analogy it does not seem presumptuous to suppose and hope that it will be so.
“Sufficient unto the day,” however, is the joy thereof.
When the two canoes pushed off and swept rapidly over the fair bosom of Red River, the heart of Archie Sinclair bounded with a feeling of exultant joy which it would have been very hard indeed to convince him was capable of increase, while the bosom of his invalid brother was filled with a sort of calm serenity which constituted, in his opinion at the time being, a quite sufficient amount of felicity.
When we add that the other hunters were, in their several ways, pretty much in the same condition as the boys, we have said enough to justify the remark that their circumstances were inexpressibly delightful.
Proceeding some distance up stream they finally diverged into a minor tributary which led to waters that were swarming with water-fowl and other game.
“This is a grand burst, Little Bill,” said Archie, as he plied his paddle vigorously, and glanced over his shoulder at the invalid behind him.
“Prime!” answered Billie. “Isn’t it?” he added, with a backward glance at Okématan.
“Waugh!” replied the reticent savage.
“Ay, ‘Waugh!’ that’s all you’ll get out of him when he’s puzzled,” said Archie; “though what he means by it is more than I know. You must speak respectable English to a Red-skin if you want to convince him. Why, if he had understood you literally, you know—and obeyed you—he’d have had something to do immediately with the lock of his gun.”
“I have often wondered, Archie,” returned his brother with a languid smile, “what a lot you manage to say sometimes with nothing in it.”
“Ha! ha!—ho! ho! what a wag you’re becoming, Little Bill. But I thank ’ee for the compliment, for you know it’s only philosophers that can say an awful lot without a’most sayin’ anything at all. Look at Oké there, now, what a depth of stupidity lies behind his brown visage; what bucketsful of ignorance swell out his black pate, but he expresses it all in the single word ‘Waugh!’ because he’s a philosopher. If he was like La Certe, he’d jabber away to us by the hour of things he knows nothin’ about, and tell us long stories that are nothin’ less than big lies. I’m glad you think me a philosopher, Little Bill, for it takes all the philosophy I’ve got to keep me up to the scratch of goin’ about the world wi’ you on my back. Why, I’m a regular Sindbad the Sailor, only I’m saddled with a young man o’ the plains instead of an old man of the sea. D’ee understand what I’m saying, Oké?”
The chief, who understood little more than that his own name and that of La Certe were mentioned, nodded his head gravely and allowed the corners of his mouth to droop, which was his peculiar way of smiling—a smile that might have been unintelligible to his friends had it not been relieved and interpreted by a decided twinkle in his eyes.
While they were conversing, the two canoes had rounded a rocky point and swept out upon a lake-like expanse in the river, which was perfectly smooth and apparently currentless. Several islets studded its calm breast and were reflected in the clear water. These were wooded to the water’s edge, and from among the sedges near their margin several flocks of wild-fowl sprang up in alarm and went off in fluttering confusion.
It chanced that just then a trumpet-like note was heard overhead, as a flock of wild geese passed the spot and came suddenly close within range of the canoes which had been concealed from them by the bushes that fringed the river.
Guns were seized at once by the bowmen in each canoe, but Archie was smarter than Fergus. Before the Highlander had got the weapon well into his hands the boy fired and one of the flock fell into the river with a heavy plunge.
Little Bill signalised the successful shot with a high-toned cheer, and the Indian with a low-toned “Waugh,” while Fergus made a hurried and therefore bad, shot at the scared flock.
“That wass a fery good shot, Archie,” remarked Fergus, as the canoes ranged up alongside of the dead bird.
“Yours was a very good one, too, Fergus,” returned the boy; “only not quite straight.”
The smile on the face of Okématan proved that he understood the drift of the reply, and that this was the style of humour he appreciated so highly in his young friend. We civilised people may wonder a little at the simplicity of the savage, but when we reflect that the chief had been born and bred among the solemnities of the wilderness, and had been up to that time wholly unacquainted with the humours and pleasantries that sometimes accompany juvenile “cheek,” our wonder may perhaps be subdued.
“This would be a splendid place to camp for the rest of the day,” suggested Davidson, while they rested on their paddles after the goose had been secured. “We must lay in a small stock of fresh provisions, you know, if we are to push on to-morrow or next day to our hunting ground. What say you, Okématan?” he added in Cree, turning to their guide.
“The will of the Paleface chief is the wish of Okématan. Let him speak.”
“Well, then, I vote for encamping on the small island over there, in the middle o’ the lake—for it’s far more like a lake than a river hereabouts—that one over which the hawk is hovering.”
“I vote for it too,” said Archie.
“So do I,” chimed in Little Bill.
“I will be sayin’ ditto to that,” put in Fergus.
“Moreover,” suggested Dan, “I vote for roasting the goose at once.”
“Ay, and eating him right away,” said Archie. As the invalid followed this up with a feeble cheer, the proposal was carried into effect without delay.
The islet was low and flat, and so thickly covered with bush that it afforded a most enticing spot for a night-encampment. There was also plenty of dead wood on it, with which to replenish the fire, and various peeps through sundry openings afforded exquisite views of woodland and river with which to charm the eyes. Over all, the sun was pouring his noontide rays in a glorious flood.
We need not waste time in going into the details of the feast that followed: how the goose was delightfully plump and tender—especially tender to teeth that would have scarcely observed the difference if it had been tough—how, in addition to the goose, they had wild-ducks enough—shot earlier in the day—to afford each one a duck to himself, leaving a brace over, of which Okématan ate one, as well as his share of the goose, and seemed to wish that he might eat the other, but he didn’t, for he restrained himself; how they drank tea with as much gusto and intemperance as if it had been a modern “afternoon”; and how, after all was over, the Red-man filled the pipe-head on the back of his iron tomahawk and began to smoke with the air of a man who meant business and regarded all that had gone before as mere child’s-play.
The afternoon was well advanced when the feast was concluded, for appetites in the wilderness are not easily or soon satisfied.
“I feel tight,” said Billie with a sigh and something of pathos in his tone, when he at last laid down his knife—we cannot add fork, for they scorned such implements at that time.
“That’s right, Little Bill,” said Archie, “try another leg or wing—now, don’t shake your head. We’ve come on this trip a-purpose to make you fat an’ strong. So you must—here, try this drum-stick. It’s only a little one, like yourself, Billie.”
“True, Archie, but I’m too little to hold it. I feel like an egg now.”
“Hallo! Oké, are you overcome already?” asked Archie.
“The sun sinks to rest at night and the birds go to sleep. If we intend to hunt we must begin now.”
“It’s always the way,” returned the boy with an air of discontent; “whenever a fellow gets into a state of extreme jollity there’s sure to be something bothersome to come and interrupt us. Obfusticate your faculties with some more smoke, Oké, till Billie and I finish our tea. We can’t shoot with half-empty stomachs, you know.”
“They must be three-quarters full by this time—whatever,” remarked Fergus, wiping his clasp-knife on the grass.
Just then, Dan Davidson, who had gone to explore the islet, returned with the information that some hunters must have recently visited the same place, for he had discovered the remains of an encampment at the extreme eastern side, which looked as if it had been recently occupied, for bones of wild-fowl were scattered about, the meat on which was neither dried nor decayed.
On hearing this, Okématan rose quickly, put out his pipe, and stuck the tomahawk in his belt. The sluggish good-natured air of contentment with which he had been smoking vanished; the half-sleepy eyes opened, and a frown rested on his brow as he said, shortly—
“Okématan goes to look.”
“May I go with you?” asked Dan.
“No. Okématan goes alone. It is known that a band of Saulteaux have been seen. They are roused just now by the actions of the great white chief and the words of my Nation. Rest here till I come. Go on eating. If they are here they may be watching us now.”
“D’ee hear that, Little Bill? You’ve got to go on eating,” said Archie. “Our guide commands it. If you disobey, the rascally Saulteaux will come down upon us somehow.”
But Archie’s light-heartedness was not shared by his older companions. They knew too well that the disturbed state of the country at the time, and especially the ill-will engendered between the Crees and Saulteaux by the ill-advised action of Lord Selkirk’s agents, rendered an explosion not improbable at any time, and a certain feeling of disappointment came over them when they reflected that the hunting expedition, which they had entered on with so much enthusiastic hope, might perhaps be brought to an abrupt close.
“If there’s to be any fighting I shall only be in your way,” said the invalid in a tone in which there was much of sadness, though none of fear.
“Not a bit of it, Little Bill,” returned Dan, quickly. “You’ll be in nobody’s way in the canoes. You’re as light as a feather. If we had even to take to the bush, Archie could run with you; an’ when he gets tired, Fergus and I would think no more o’ you than a grasshopper.”
“Iss it carryin’ him you will be taalkin’ of?” said Fergus. “Ay, ay! I would be forgettin’ that he wass on my back if I had him there.”
As he spoke, the Indian returned to the camp with the cat-like tread so characteristic of the Red-man.
“A big band has been here,” he said. “They slept on the island last night, and the signs show that they do not come as friends.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Dan.
“Okématan is sure of nothing. Even the sun may not rise to-morrow.”
“Had we not better, then, return at once to the Settlement, and tell what we have seen?” said Dan.
“If we did, the Saulteaux would see us and give chase. Their canoes are big and have strong men in them. They would overtake us soon and our scalps would be swinging at their belts to-morrow.”
“Not pleesant to think of—whatever,” said Fergus.
“What, then, do you advise?” asked Dan. “You understand the ways of the wilderness, and we will follow your lead.”
The chief appeared to think for a few moments.
“We will remain where we are,” he said; “only we will send the boys off in one of the canoes, as if to shoot some ducks for us. The Saulteaux will think that we are lazy, idle men, who like to lie in camp and sleep or smoke while the boys hunt for us. When night comes we will escape in the dark and go down the river to warn the settlers.”
“But what if they attack us before night comes on?” asked Dan.
“They will not do that,” answered the Indian, gravely. “They know that we are well supplied with powder and shot. They know that some one must lead in every attack, and that such leaders would be doomed to death. Saulteaux do not love death. They prefer life. They will not come till it is dark.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Fergus, who seemed greatly tickled with the latter part of the chief’s observation, “fery goot! ho! fery goot!—they do not love death, an’ it iss life they will be preferrin’. Ay, ay! It iss the Heelandman that will be of much the same opeenion, only, when fightin’ hes got to be done, he’s not afraid to do it in daylight.”
“He may not be afraid, Fergus,” said Dan, “yet I suspect that the Red-man’s tactics are often the wisest, for what would be the use of making an attack in daylight, at the cost of several lives, when the attack might be made quite as well, if not better, at night, without the loss, perhaps, of any life at all?”
“I will not be sayin’,” returned Fergus, who was of an argumentative disposition, “anything at all about attackin’ by day or by night. I will only be remarkin’ that the Heelandman iss like the savitch in that he prefers life to death.”
“Come along to the fire, Fergus,” said Dan, laughing; “I will argue that out with you.”
“It will be difficult to argue, then, for there iss no argument in it at all. It is only a statement of opeenion.”
“Well, but surely it is possible to controvert your opinion! Besides, we are somewhat exposed where we stand. Even an arrow might reach us from the near bank.”
“Never you fear, Tan. They will not be so foolish as to fire now, instead of attack at night. They are sly—whatever.”
While the two friends were thus conversing, the Cree chief was arranging the smaller of the canoes for the use of the young hunters—that is, he took out all the lading, making it so light that it would skim over the water like an egg-shell with the slightest impulse of the paddle.
“You’ll have to put a big stone in the stern, Oké,” said Archie, “to make up for Little Bill’s lightness—”
“For your heaviness, you mean,” interrupted the invalid.
“No; I mean what I say, Billie, for you are light-headed as well as light-hearted—a sort o’ human balloon, ready to go up like a rocket at any time—so that even an or’nary man like me weighs you down. Besides, Oké, he steers better than me and I shoot better than him. Also, I like the hardest work, so I always take the bow.”
Arranging things according to directions, the Indian held the canoe steady while the brothers stepped carefully in—for they had learned from experience that the birch-bark canoe, besides being easily broken, is apt to overturn on small provocation.
“Let not Arch-ee go near the river-bank on either side,” said the chief in a warning voice, as he was about to shove the frail bark out upon the glassy water. “The Saulteaux might catch him. And let him not go far up or down stream. Let him keep among the reeds round the island. There are many ducks there. Shoot plenty, as if Arch-ee had no suspicion—no fear of Indians.”
“I say, Oké,” demanded the lad, with what was meant for an overwhelming frown, “do you mean to hint that Ihaveany fear of the Indians?”
“Okématan has the belief that Arch-ee never knew fear at all,” returned the chief, earnestly; “that he has the courage of the young buffalo-bull.”
“Well, I’m not quite so sure o’ that,” returned the boy, with a modest look. “I would not myself put it quite so strong, you know. But you’re a wise chief, and I hope you’ve got a lot of brothers as wise as yourself. Good-bye, Oké—shove off. Now, then, mind how you steer, Little Bill.”
Chapter Twenty Two.Circumventing the Red-Skins.For some time the brothers paddled about the sedgy shore of the small islet on which the camp had been pitched, now setting up a flock of ducks and then slipping into the heart of some reeds and concealing themselves until a good chance was obtained at a passing flock of geese.Archie Sinclair soon laid in enough provision to serve the party for a few meals, for his hand was steady and his eye true.“Little Bill,” he said, looking back after one of his successful shots, “you must take a shot now. We will go right-about-face, and convert the bow into the stern in the usual way. See, catch hold of the gun.”“No, Arch-ee, as Oké calls you, I won’t; I’m quite content to look on, for your gun kicks like a Mexican mule. Besides, it’s easy work to steer, and seeing you panting and toiling in the bow makes it seem all the easier. Just you keep blazin’ away, old man. But, I say, where shall Isteer to now? I’m tired o’ steering among the reeds. Let us push out into the clear water.”“You heard what Oké said,” objected Archie; “we must keep well clear o’ both shores.”“I know that,” returned Billie, “but he did not forbid us to try the reeds round the other islands; there’s a much bigger one, not a quarter of a mile up stream. I think there are some beautiful sedges there where geese are likely to live. I’m sure I would choose to live in such a place if I was a goose.”“O! then, we must go, Little Bill, for I think it would be hard to keep any one out of his native home.”So saying, he dipped his paddle with vigour, and the light bark shot swiftly over the glancing water.The sun was beginning to descend towards the western horizon when they drew near to the island, and several flocks of water-fowl had already sprung alarmed from the reeds, when Archie caught sight of a black-and-red-painted visage peering at him from among the bushes.The boy’s heart seemed to bound into his throat and his first impulse was to turn the canoe and fly, but Archie’s mind was quicker even than his hand or eye. All he had ever heard or read of the cool stoicism of the Red-man seemed to flash across his memory, and, with a violent effort, he crushed back the shout that rose to his lips. He could not indeed suppress the look of sudden surprise that swept across his expressive face, but he cleverly adapted it to circumstances.“Look, look! Little Bill,” he exclaimed, eagerly, pointing right over the Indian’s head at a flock of geese that opportunely appeared at the moment in the far distance. “Crouch, Bill, lie low, I’ll call them. Steer a little more to the left and keep her so.”Thereupon he began a vociferous imitation of the sounds with which Indians are wont to call to geese that may chance to be flying past at a distance. The obedient Billie steered as directed, and thus the canoe was slowly sheered off a little from the shore. It was cleverly done. Whether the savage was deceived or not we cannot tell, but he showed no sign of intention to move or act, though he was within easy range of the boys.“Little Bill,” said Archie, in a low voice, such as one might use when anxious not to alarm game, “can you do what you’re bidat onceandexactly?”“I can try,” was the quiet answer.“Well, then, try your best, Little Bill; for our lives may depend on our action now. Keep your eyes fixed on that flock o’ geese as long as they’re in sight.Don’tlook at the shore, whatever I do or say. Look at anything you like, butnot at theshore. There’s a Red-skin there. I’ve seen him, though he thinks I haven’t. Now, steer right round and go back the way we have just come, only keep always edging a little off-shore.”As he said this Archie raised himself from his crouching attitude, laid down his gun and resumed his paddle, and in his ordinary free-and-easy tones exclaimed—“We’ve lost that chance, Little Bill—more’s the pity.”“Never mind,” answered Billie in the same tone, being resolved to act his part well, “there’s lot’s more where these came from. Better luck next time. Where away now?”“Keep her just as you go, you’re far enough out now. We should start some ducks here.”Thus speaking, and with the air of a leisurely man enjoying himself—with infinite contentment on his ruddy countenance, and with much concern in his agitated soul—Archie took the canoe straight past the very spot where the Indian lay concealed. He felt that audacity was the safest line of action, for he knew that if the savage meant mischief, to pretend absolute ignorance of his existence would be less likely to draw a shot than sudden flight—which, however swiftly carried out, could by no means equal the flight of a bullet. Besides, it was of the utmost importance that he should reach the encampment and report what he had seen without the Indian becoming aware that he had been discovered.In order to effect his purpose, he not only repassed the hiding-place of the savage but actually shot and picked up another duck while still within range of the enemy’s gun. Then he directed his brother to steer still more off the island, but very slowly.“We’re in no hurry, you see, Little Bill; you haven’t looked at the shore, I hope?”“Never once.”“Ha! ha!” laughed Archie in high glee at the success of this his first experiment in backwoods warfare; “you’re a trump, Little Bill!”“I’d rather be a trump than a trumpet, Archie. If there are more Red-skins about, laughing like that will be sure to rouse them.”“Never fear, Billie, my boy. You do as I tell ’ee. We must keep up the game a bit longer yet. It won’t do to hurry back till the sun is lower, so we’ll go over to that small island there an’ have a try for another duck. There’s sure to be nobody on such a small island as that. Afterwards we’ll drop down in an off-hand, idle-like way to the encampment. It’ll be natural to do this when the evenin’s beginning to set in, an’ so we’ll stump them Red-skins at their own game. D’ee understand?”“Yes. You’re a clever chap, Archie.”In pursuance of this deeply laid plan, the brothers crossed over to the small islet referred to, and, after apparently amusing themselves there for a short time, dropped down stream in a leisurely way, reaching the encampment before the evening had fairly set in.A council of war was immediately held.“You were right in your guess, Okématan,” said Davidson. “The reptiles will be down on us to-night no doubt. What course does the Cree chief advise?”“Okématan advises that the kettle be boiled, the duck roasted, and a good big supper eaten.”“It iss fery pleasant advice, no doubt,” said Fergus with a broad and rather sarcastic grin, “but it iss not warlike!”“It seems not a bad preparation for war, anyhow,” said Dan; “and what after that?”“The two boys will sleep and rest while food is preparing,” continued the chief. “The moon will set before we have done eating, and it will be very dark. The Saulteaux will not attack while the light lasts. When it is quite dark we will go.”“If we fix to leave and they chance to attack at the same time, it iss meetin’ them we will be, Okématan,” said Fergus.To this remark the Indian vouchsafed no reply.“Well, well, Muster Okématan, it iss your own business; you will know best yourself. I will see to stowin’ away my supper—whatever.”By the time supper was over, the moon had descended into a bank of black clouds on the horizon, and profound darkness brooded over land and water. It was a night such as an attacking party would hail as being most suitable for its work, and of course was proportionately unsuitable for the attacked. The Indian chief displayed no more concern about it than if nothing unusual were pending. After supper, however, he directed that the canoes should be launched and loaded. At the same time he gathered together as much wood as he could, and heaped it on the fire.“You seem determined to give them plenty of light to do their work,” remarked Davidson.“They will wait till our fire burns low,” said the chief. “By that time they will think we are asleep. A sleeping foe is not dangerous. They will come—slowly; step by step; with wide eyes glancing from side to side, and no noise, sly as foxes; timid as squaws! But by that time we will be far on our way back to Red River!”“Ay—if we do not meet them comin’ to attack us,” said Fergus.“And how shall we proceed!” asked Dan.“As we came,” answered the chief. “Okématan, with the two boys, will lead. Dan-ell an’ Fergus will follow. Come.”Led by their guide, the party passed out of the firelight into the dense thicket by which the spot was encompassed almost completely, so that the only visible sign of the encampment from outside was the forks of flame and sparks which rose high above the bushes.On reaching the shore they found the two boys holding the canoes, close to the land. So intense was the darkness that they could not see the boys or canoes at all till close beside them. Without uttering a word, or making a sound with their moccasined feet, they stepped into the canoes, pushed gently off and glided, ghost-like, into the vast obscurity.
For some time the brothers paddled about the sedgy shore of the small islet on which the camp had been pitched, now setting up a flock of ducks and then slipping into the heart of some reeds and concealing themselves until a good chance was obtained at a passing flock of geese.
Archie Sinclair soon laid in enough provision to serve the party for a few meals, for his hand was steady and his eye true.
“Little Bill,” he said, looking back after one of his successful shots, “you must take a shot now. We will go right-about-face, and convert the bow into the stern in the usual way. See, catch hold of the gun.”
“No, Arch-ee, as Oké calls you, I won’t; I’m quite content to look on, for your gun kicks like a Mexican mule. Besides, it’s easy work to steer, and seeing you panting and toiling in the bow makes it seem all the easier. Just you keep blazin’ away, old man. But, I say, where shall Isteer to now? I’m tired o’ steering among the reeds. Let us push out into the clear water.”
“You heard what Oké said,” objected Archie; “we must keep well clear o’ both shores.”
“I know that,” returned Billie, “but he did not forbid us to try the reeds round the other islands; there’s a much bigger one, not a quarter of a mile up stream. I think there are some beautiful sedges there where geese are likely to live. I’m sure I would choose to live in such a place if I was a goose.”
“O! then, we must go, Little Bill, for I think it would be hard to keep any one out of his native home.”
So saying, he dipped his paddle with vigour, and the light bark shot swiftly over the glancing water.
The sun was beginning to descend towards the western horizon when they drew near to the island, and several flocks of water-fowl had already sprung alarmed from the reeds, when Archie caught sight of a black-and-red-painted visage peering at him from among the bushes.
The boy’s heart seemed to bound into his throat and his first impulse was to turn the canoe and fly, but Archie’s mind was quicker even than his hand or eye. All he had ever heard or read of the cool stoicism of the Red-man seemed to flash across his memory, and, with a violent effort, he crushed back the shout that rose to his lips. He could not indeed suppress the look of sudden surprise that swept across his expressive face, but he cleverly adapted it to circumstances.
“Look, look! Little Bill,” he exclaimed, eagerly, pointing right over the Indian’s head at a flock of geese that opportunely appeared at the moment in the far distance. “Crouch, Bill, lie low, I’ll call them. Steer a little more to the left and keep her so.”
Thereupon he began a vociferous imitation of the sounds with which Indians are wont to call to geese that may chance to be flying past at a distance. The obedient Billie steered as directed, and thus the canoe was slowly sheered off a little from the shore. It was cleverly done. Whether the savage was deceived or not we cannot tell, but he showed no sign of intention to move or act, though he was within easy range of the boys.
“Little Bill,” said Archie, in a low voice, such as one might use when anxious not to alarm game, “can you do what you’re bidat onceandexactly?”
“I can try,” was the quiet answer.
“Well, then, try your best, Little Bill; for our lives may depend on our action now. Keep your eyes fixed on that flock o’ geese as long as they’re in sight.Don’tlook at the shore, whatever I do or say. Look at anything you like, butnot at theshore. There’s a Red-skin there. I’ve seen him, though he thinks I haven’t. Now, steer right round and go back the way we have just come, only keep always edging a little off-shore.”
As he said this Archie raised himself from his crouching attitude, laid down his gun and resumed his paddle, and in his ordinary free-and-easy tones exclaimed—
“We’ve lost that chance, Little Bill—more’s the pity.”
“Never mind,” answered Billie in the same tone, being resolved to act his part well, “there’s lot’s more where these came from. Better luck next time. Where away now?”
“Keep her just as you go, you’re far enough out now. We should start some ducks here.”
Thus speaking, and with the air of a leisurely man enjoying himself—with infinite contentment on his ruddy countenance, and with much concern in his agitated soul—Archie took the canoe straight past the very spot where the Indian lay concealed. He felt that audacity was the safest line of action, for he knew that if the savage meant mischief, to pretend absolute ignorance of his existence would be less likely to draw a shot than sudden flight—which, however swiftly carried out, could by no means equal the flight of a bullet. Besides, it was of the utmost importance that he should reach the encampment and report what he had seen without the Indian becoming aware that he had been discovered.
In order to effect his purpose, he not only repassed the hiding-place of the savage but actually shot and picked up another duck while still within range of the enemy’s gun. Then he directed his brother to steer still more off the island, but very slowly.
“We’re in no hurry, you see, Little Bill; you haven’t looked at the shore, I hope?”
“Never once.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Archie in high glee at the success of this his first experiment in backwoods warfare; “you’re a trump, Little Bill!”
“I’d rather be a trump than a trumpet, Archie. If there are more Red-skins about, laughing like that will be sure to rouse them.”
“Never fear, Billie, my boy. You do as I tell ’ee. We must keep up the game a bit longer yet. It won’t do to hurry back till the sun is lower, so we’ll go over to that small island there an’ have a try for another duck. There’s sure to be nobody on such a small island as that. Afterwards we’ll drop down in an off-hand, idle-like way to the encampment. It’ll be natural to do this when the evenin’s beginning to set in, an’ so we’ll stump them Red-skins at their own game. D’ee understand?”
“Yes. You’re a clever chap, Archie.”
In pursuance of this deeply laid plan, the brothers crossed over to the small islet referred to, and, after apparently amusing themselves there for a short time, dropped down stream in a leisurely way, reaching the encampment before the evening had fairly set in.
A council of war was immediately held.
“You were right in your guess, Okématan,” said Davidson. “The reptiles will be down on us to-night no doubt. What course does the Cree chief advise?”
“Okématan advises that the kettle be boiled, the duck roasted, and a good big supper eaten.”
“It iss fery pleasant advice, no doubt,” said Fergus with a broad and rather sarcastic grin, “but it iss not warlike!”
“It seems not a bad preparation for war, anyhow,” said Dan; “and what after that?”
“The two boys will sleep and rest while food is preparing,” continued the chief. “The moon will set before we have done eating, and it will be very dark. The Saulteaux will not attack while the light lasts. When it is quite dark we will go.”
“If we fix to leave and they chance to attack at the same time, it iss meetin’ them we will be, Okématan,” said Fergus.
To this remark the Indian vouchsafed no reply.
“Well, well, Muster Okématan, it iss your own business; you will know best yourself. I will see to stowin’ away my supper—whatever.”
By the time supper was over, the moon had descended into a bank of black clouds on the horizon, and profound darkness brooded over land and water. It was a night such as an attacking party would hail as being most suitable for its work, and of course was proportionately unsuitable for the attacked. The Indian chief displayed no more concern about it than if nothing unusual were pending. After supper, however, he directed that the canoes should be launched and loaded. At the same time he gathered together as much wood as he could, and heaped it on the fire.
“You seem determined to give them plenty of light to do their work,” remarked Davidson.
“They will wait till our fire burns low,” said the chief. “By that time they will think we are asleep. A sleeping foe is not dangerous. They will come—slowly; step by step; with wide eyes glancing from side to side, and no noise, sly as foxes; timid as squaws! But by that time we will be far on our way back to Red River!”
“Ay—if we do not meet them comin’ to attack us,” said Fergus.
“And how shall we proceed!” asked Dan.
“As we came,” answered the chief. “Okématan, with the two boys, will lead. Dan-ell an’ Fergus will follow. Come.”
Led by their guide, the party passed out of the firelight into the dense thicket by which the spot was encompassed almost completely, so that the only visible sign of the encampment from outside was the forks of flame and sparks which rose high above the bushes.
On reaching the shore they found the two boys holding the canoes, close to the land. So intense was the darkness that they could not see the boys or canoes at all till close beside them. Without uttering a word, or making a sound with their moccasined feet, they stepped into the canoes, pushed gently off and glided, ghost-like, into the vast obscurity.
Chapter Twenty Three.A Midnight Chase, and Dan in Extremity.For some time they advanced in absolute silence, dipping their paddles so as to make no noise whatever; Dan following as close as possible in the wake of the chief, for it was one of those nights which people describe as being so dark that one cannot see one’s hand before one’s face.On reaching the lower end of the lake-like expansion where the river narrowed suddenly and the stream began to be felt, it was discovered that the enemy was in advance of them—that, anticipating some such attempt at escape, they had stationed an ambush at the narrows to cut off their retreat.Archie was naturally the first to make this discovery, being in the bow of the canoe. He heard no sound, but suddenly there loomed out of the darkness another canoe close to them—so close that they were on the point of running into it when the sharp-witted boy saw it, and, with an adroit turn of his paddle prevented a collision. Then he ceased to paddle, and held his breath. Not knowing what to do next he wisely did nothing, but left matters to Oké and fate!As they passed, the steersman in the strange canoe uttered something in a low tone. Evidently he mistook them for his friends.“Sh!” was Okématan’s prompt reply—or the Indian equivalent for that caution.They glided silently and slowly past, but the suspicion of the strange Indian had obviously been aroused, for the paddles of his canoe were heard to gurgle powerfully. Hearing this, Okématan made a stroke that sent his canoe ahead like an arrow, and Archie, who appreciated the situation, seconded the movement.“Stop!” exclaimed the strange Indian, in the Saulteaux tongue, but the Cree chief did not feel the duty of obedience strongly upon him just then. On the contrary, he put forth all his strength, but quietly, for he remembered that Dan Davidson was behind.As there was now no need for concealment, the pursuer uttered a shrill war-whoop which was immediately answered and repeated until the woods rang with the fiendish sound, while half-a-dozen canoes dashed out from the banks on either side, and sought to bar the river.“Now, Arch-ee,” said the Cree chief in a low voice, “paddle for your life and be a man!”“I’ll be two men, if you like, Oké,” answered the boy, whose courage was of that type which experiences something almost like desperate glee in the presence of imminent danger.The canoe, obedient to the double impulse and the power of the current, was soon out of hearing of the pursuers.“O! if I only had a paddle I might help you,” said Little Bill eagerly.“Yes, an’ bu’st your biler, or explode your lungs, or something o’ that sort,” said his brother. “No, no, Little Bill; you sit there like a lord or an admiral, an’ leave men like Oké an’ me to do all the dirty work.”While he spoke thus flippantly it is but justice to say that Archie was never more anxiously in earnest in his life, and that he strained at his paddle with a degree of energy that made him, perhaps, more than equal to many an average man. So that the canoe forged well ahead of the pursuers and finally got to a part of the river where three islets divided it into several channels, rendering further pursuit in the dark useless if not impossible.Their comrades, however, were not so fortunate. Left behind by the sudden spurt of his leader, Davidson and his companion exerted themselves to overtake him, but the canoes of the enemy, which were just too late to cut off the retreat of Okématan, were in time to intercept the second canoe. In this emergency Dan swerved aside, hoping to get to the bank before the Saulteaux could discover his exact whereabouts. His intentions were thwarted by the want of caution in his companion.“Iss it to the land ye are going?” asked Fergus.“Yes—it’s our only chance,” whispered Dan.“It iss my opeenion—” murmured the Highlander.“Hush!” ejaculated Dan.But the caution came too late. A listening Red-skin overheard the sounds, and, with a sudden dash was alongside of them. He did not, however, know the vigour of the men with whom he had to deal. While he was in the very midst of a triumphant war-whoop, Dan cut him over the head with the paddle so violently that the instrument became splinters, and the whoop ceased abruptly. At the same time Fergus caught hold of the bow of the enemy’s canoe with an iron grasp, and, giving it a heave that might have put Samson to shame, fairly overturned it.“Ye can wet your whustle now—whatever,” he muttered.As he spoke, the canoe ran with extreme violence against the invisible bank. At the same moment a random volley was fired from the canoes in rear. Fear lest they should wound or kill a comrade probably caused them to send the whizzing bullets rather high, but for one instant the flame revealed the position of the fugitives, and those who had reserved their fire took better aim.“Take to the bush, Fergus!” cried Dan, as he grasped his gun and leaped into the shallow water.The Highlander stooped to lay hold of his weapon, which lay in the bow of the canoe, just as another volley was fired. The act was the means of saving his life, for at least half-a-dozen bullets whizzed close over his head. Before he could recover himself a strong hand grasped his neck and flung him backwards. Probably a desperate hand-to-hand fight would have ensued, for Fergus McKay had much of the bone, muscle, and sinew, that is characteristic of his race, but a blow from an unseen weapon stunned him, and when his senses returned he found himself bound hand and foot lying in the bottom of a canoe. He could tell from its motion, that it was descending the river.Meanwhile Dan Davidson, under the impression that his comrade was also seeking safety in the bush, did his best to advance in circumstances of which he had never yet had experience, for, if the night was dark on the open bosom of the river, it presented the blackness of Erebus in the forest. Dan literally could not see an inch in advance of his own nose. If he held up his hand before his face it was absolutely invisible.In the haste of the first rush he had crashed through a mass of small shrubbery with which the bank of the stream was lined. Then on passing through that he tumbled head over heels into a hollow, and narrowly missed breaking his gun. Beyond that he was arrested by a tree with such violence that he fell and lay for a minute or two, half-stunned. While lying thus, experience began to teach him, and common sense to have fair-play.“A little more of this,” he thought, “and I’m a dead man. Besides, if it is difficult for me to traverse the forest in the dark, it is equally difficult for the savages. My plan is to feel my way step by step, with caution. That will be the quietest way, too, as well as the quickest. You’re an excited fool, Dan!”When a man begins to think, and call himself a fool, there is some hope of him. Gathering himself up, and feeling his gun all over carefully, to make sure that it had not been broken, he continued to advance with excessive caution, and, in consequence, was ere long a considerable distance from the banks of the river, though, of course, he had but a hazy idea as to what part of the country he had attained, or whither he was tending.As the first excitement of flight passed away, Dan began to feel uneasy prickings of conscience at having so hastily sought safety for himself, though, upon reflection, he could not accuse himself of having deserted his comrades. Okématan and the boys, he had good reason to believe—at least to hope—had succeeded in evading the foe, and Fergus he supposed had landed with himself, and was even at that moment making good his escape into the forest. To find him, in the circumstances, he knew to be impossible, and to shout by way of ascertaining his whereabouts he also knew to be useless as well as dangerous, as by doing so he would make his own position known to the enemy.He also began to feel certain pricking sensations in his right leg as well as in his conscience. The leg grew more painful as he advanced, and, on examination of the limb by feeling, he found, to his surprise, that he had received a bullet-wound in the thigh. Moreover he discovered that his trousers were wet with blood, and that there was a continuous flow of the vital fluid from the wound. This at once accounted to him for some very unusual feelings of faintness which had come over him, and which he had at first attributed to his frequent and violent falls.The importance of checking the haemorrhage was so obvious, that he at once sat down and did his best to bind up the wound with the red cotton kerchief that encircled his neck. Having accomplished this as well as he could in the dark, he resumed his journey, and, after several hours of laborious scrambling, at last came to a halt with a feeling of very considerable, and to him unusual, exhaustion.Again he sat down on what seemed to be a bed of moss, and began to meditate.“Impossible to go further!” he thought. “I feel quite knocked up. Strange! I never felt like this before. It must have been the tumbles that did it, or it may be that I’ve lost more blood than I suppose. I’ll rest a bit now, and begin a search for Fergus by the first streak of dawn.”In pursuance of this intention, the wearied man lay down, and putting his head on a mossy pillow, fell into a profound sleep, which was not broken till the sun was high in the heavens on the following day.When at last he did awake, and attempted to sit up, Dan felt, to his surprise and no small alarm, that he was as weak as a child, that his leg lay in a pool of coagulated gore, and that blood was still slowly trickling from the wound in his thigh.Although disposed to lie down and give way to an almost irresistible tendency to slumber, Dan was too well aware that death stared him in the face to succumb to the feeling without a struggle. He therefore made a mighty effort of will; sat up; undid the soaking bandage, and proceeded to extemporise a sort of tourniquet with it and a short piece of stick.The contrivance, rude as it was, proved effectual, for it stopped the bleeding, but Dan could not help feeling that he had already lost so much blood that he was reduced almost to the last stage of exhaustion, and that another hour or two would probably see the close of his earthly career. Nothing, perhaps, could have impressed this truth upon him so forcibly as his inability to shout when he tried to do so.In the faint hope that Fergus might be within call, he raised his voice with the full knowledge that he ran the risk of attracting a foe instead of a comrade. The sound that complied with the impulse of his will would have made him laugh if he had not felt an amazing and unaccountable disposition to cry. Up to that period of his life—almost from his earliest babyhood—Dan Davidson’s capacious chest had always contained the machinery, and the power, to make the nursery or the welkin ring with almost unparalleled violence. Now, the chest, though still capacious, and still full of the machinery, seemed to have totally lost the power, for the intended shout came forth in a gasp and ended in a sigh.It was much the same when he essayed to rise. His legs almost refused to support him; everything appeared to swim before his eyes, and he sank down again listlessly on the ground. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, the strong man had the conviction effectually carried home to him that he was mortal, and could become helpless. The advantage of early training by a godly mother became apparent in this hour of weakness, for his first impulse was to pray for help, and the resulting effect—whether men choose to call it natural or supernatural—was at least partial relief from anxiety, and that degree of comfort which almost invariably arises from a state of resignation.After a brief rest, the power of active thought revived a little, and Dan, again raising himself on one elbow, tried to rouse himself to the necessity of immediate action of some sort if his life was to be saved.The spot on which he had lain, or rather fallen down, on the preceding night happened to be the fringe of the forest where it bordered on an extensive plain or stretch of prairie land. It was surrounded by a dense growth of trees and bushes, except on the side next the plain, where an opening permitted of an extensive view over the undulating country. No better spot could have been chosen, even in broad daylight, for an encampment, than had been thus fallen upon by the hunter in the darkness of night.But the poor man felt at once that this advantage could be of no avail to him, for in the haste of landing he had thought only of his gun, and had left his axe, with the bag containing materials for making fire, in the canoe. Fortunately he had not divested himself of his powder-horn or shot-pouch, so he was not without the means of procuring food, but of what use could these be, he reflected, if he had not strength to use them?Once again, in the energy of determination, he rose up and shouldered his gun with the intention of making his way across the plain, in the hope that he might at all events reach the wigwam of some wandering Indian, but he trembled so from excessive weakness that he was obliged to give up the attempt, and again sank down with feelings akin to despair.To add to his distress, hunger now assailed him so violently that he would have roasted and eaten his moccasins—as many a starving man had done before him, though without much benefit—but even this resource was denied him for the want of fire, and raw moccasin was not only indigestible but uneatable!Still, as it seemed his only hope, he gathered a few dry twigs and sticks together, drew the charge from his gun and sought to kindle some mossy lichen into flame by flashing the priming in the pan of the lock. Recent rains had damped everything, however, and his attempts proved abortive. Fortunately the weather was warm, so that he did not suffer from cold.While he was yet labouring assiduously to accomplish his purpose, the whir of wings was heard overhead. Glancing quickly up, he perceived that a small flock of willow-grouse had settled on the bushes close to him. He was not surprised, though very thankful, for these birds were numerous enough and he had heard them flying about from time to time, but that they should settle down so near was exceedingly opportune and unexpected.With eager haste and caution he rammed home the charge he had so recently withdrawn—keeping his eyes fixed longingly on the game all the time. That the birds saw him was obvious, for they kept turning their heads from side to side and looking down at him with curiosity. By good fortune grouse of this kind are sometimes very stupid as well as tame. They did not take alarm at Dan’s motions, but craned their necks and seemed to eye him with considerable curiosity. Even when he tried to take aim at them their general aspect suggested that they were asking, mentally, “What next?”But Dan found that he could not aim. The point of the gun wavered around as it might have done in the hands of a child.With a short—almost contemptuous—laugh at his ridiculous incapacity, Dan lowered the gun.Stupid as they were, the laugh was too much for the birds. They spread their wings.“Now or never!” exclaimed Dan aloud. He pointed his gun straight at the flock; took no aim, and fired!The result was that a plump specimen dropped almost at his feet. If he had been able to cheer he would have done so. But he was not, so he thanked God, fervently, instead.Again the poor man essayed to kindle a fire, but in trying to do this with gunpowder he made the startling discovery that he had only one more charge in his powder-horn. He therefore re-loaded his gun, wiped out the pan and primed with care, feeling that this might be the last thing that would stand between him and starvation. It might have stood between him and something worse—but of that, more hereafter.Starving men are not particular. That day Dan did what he would have believed to have been, in him, an impossibility—he drank the blood of the bird and ate its flesh raw!“After all,” thought he, while engaged in this half-cannibalistic deed, “what’s the difference between raw grouse and raw oyster?”It is but right to add that he did not philosophise much on the subject. Having consumed his meal, he lay down beside his gun and slept the sleep of the weary.
For some time they advanced in absolute silence, dipping their paddles so as to make no noise whatever; Dan following as close as possible in the wake of the chief, for it was one of those nights which people describe as being so dark that one cannot see one’s hand before one’s face.
On reaching the lower end of the lake-like expansion where the river narrowed suddenly and the stream began to be felt, it was discovered that the enemy was in advance of them—that, anticipating some such attempt at escape, they had stationed an ambush at the narrows to cut off their retreat.
Archie was naturally the first to make this discovery, being in the bow of the canoe. He heard no sound, but suddenly there loomed out of the darkness another canoe close to them—so close that they were on the point of running into it when the sharp-witted boy saw it, and, with an adroit turn of his paddle prevented a collision. Then he ceased to paddle, and held his breath. Not knowing what to do next he wisely did nothing, but left matters to Oké and fate!
As they passed, the steersman in the strange canoe uttered something in a low tone. Evidently he mistook them for his friends.
“Sh!” was Okématan’s prompt reply—or the Indian equivalent for that caution.
They glided silently and slowly past, but the suspicion of the strange Indian had obviously been aroused, for the paddles of his canoe were heard to gurgle powerfully. Hearing this, Okématan made a stroke that sent his canoe ahead like an arrow, and Archie, who appreciated the situation, seconded the movement.
“Stop!” exclaimed the strange Indian, in the Saulteaux tongue, but the Cree chief did not feel the duty of obedience strongly upon him just then. On the contrary, he put forth all his strength, but quietly, for he remembered that Dan Davidson was behind.
As there was now no need for concealment, the pursuer uttered a shrill war-whoop which was immediately answered and repeated until the woods rang with the fiendish sound, while half-a-dozen canoes dashed out from the banks on either side, and sought to bar the river.
“Now, Arch-ee,” said the Cree chief in a low voice, “paddle for your life and be a man!”
“I’ll be two men, if you like, Oké,” answered the boy, whose courage was of that type which experiences something almost like desperate glee in the presence of imminent danger.
The canoe, obedient to the double impulse and the power of the current, was soon out of hearing of the pursuers.
“O! if I only had a paddle I might help you,” said Little Bill eagerly.
“Yes, an’ bu’st your biler, or explode your lungs, or something o’ that sort,” said his brother. “No, no, Little Bill; you sit there like a lord or an admiral, an’ leave men like Oké an’ me to do all the dirty work.”
While he spoke thus flippantly it is but justice to say that Archie was never more anxiously in earnest in his life, and that he strained at his paddle with a degree of energy that made him, perhaps, more than equal to many an average man. So that the canoe forged well ahead of the pursuers and finally got to a part of the river where three islets divided it into several channels, rendering further pursuit in the dark useless if not impossible.
Their comrades, however, were not so fortunate. Left behind by the sudden spurt of his leader, Davidson and his companion exerted themselves to overtake him, but the canoes of the enemy, which were just too late to cut off the retreat of Okématan, were in time to intercept the second canoe. In this emergency Dan swerved aside, hoping to get to the bank before the Saulteaux could discover his exact whereabouts. His intentions were thwarted by the want of caution in his companion.
“Iss it to the land ye are going?” asked Fergus.
“Yes—it’s our only chance,” whispered Dan.
“It iss my opeenion—” murmured the Highlander.
“Hush!” ejaculated Dan.
But the caution came too late. A listening Red-skin overheard the sounds, and, with a sudden dash was alongside of them. He did not, however, know the vigour of the men with whom he had to deal. While he was in the very midst of a triumphant war-whoop, Dan cut him over the head with the paddle so violently that the instrument became splinters, and the whoop ceased abruptly. At the same time Fergus caught hold of the bow of the enemy’s canoe with an iron grasp, and, giving it a heave that might have put Samson to shame, fairly overturned it.
“Ye can wet your whustle now—whatever,” he muttered.
As he spoke, the canoe ran with extreme violence against the invisible bank. At the same moment a random volley was fired from the canoes in rear. Fear lest they should wound or kill a comrade probably caused them to send the whizzing bullets rather high, but for one instant the flame revealed the position of the fugitives, and those who had reserved their fire took better aim.
“Take to the bush, Fergus!” cried Dan, as he grasped his gun and leaped into the shallow water.
The Highlander stooped to lay hold of his weapon, which lay in the bow of the canoe, just as another volley was fired. The act was the means of saving his life, for at least half-a-dozen bullets whizzed close over his head. Before he could recover himself a strong hand grasped his neck and flung him backwards. Probably a desperate hand-to-hand fight would have ensued, for Fergus McKay had much of the bone, muscle, and sinew, that is characteristic of his race, but a blow from an unseen weapon stunned him, and when his senses returned he found himself bound hand and foot lying in the bottom of a canoe. He could tell from its motion, that it was descending the river.
Meanwhile Dan Davidson, under the impression that his comrade was also seeking safety in the bush, did his best to advance in circumstances of which he had never yet had experience, for, if the night was dark on the open bosom of the river, it presented the blackness of Erebus in the forest. Dan literally could not see an inch in advance of his own nose. If he held up his hand before his face it was absolutely invisible.
In the haste of the first rush he had crashed through a mass of small shrubbery with which the bank of the stream was lined. Then on passing through that he tumbled head over heels into a hollow, and narrowly missed breaking his gun. Beyond that he was arrested by a tree with such violence that he fell and lay for a minute or two, half-stunned. While lying thus, experience began to teach him, and common sense to have fair-play.
“A little more of this,” he thought, “and I’m a dead man. Besides, if it is difficult for me to traverse the forest in the dark, it is equally difficult for the savages. My plan is to feel my way step by step, with caution. That will be the quietest way, too, as well as the quickest. You’re an excited fool, Dan!”
When a man begins to think, and call himself a fool, there is some hope of him. Gathering himself up, and feeling his gun all over carefully, to make sure that it had not been broken, he continued to advance with excessive caution, and, in consequence, was ere long a considerable distance from the banks of the river, though, of course, he had but a hazy idea as to what part of the country he had attained, or whither he was tending.
As the first excitement of flight passed away, Dan began to feel uneasy prickings of conscience at having so hastily sought safety for himself, though, upon reflection, he could not accuse himself of having deserted his comrades. Okématan and the boys, he had good reason to believe—at least to hope—had succeeded in evading the foe, and Fergus he supposed had landed with himself, and was even at that moment making good his escape into the forest. To find him, in the circumstances, he knew to be impossible, and to shout by way of ascertaining his whereabouts he also knew to be useless as well as dangerous, as by doing so he would make his own position known to the enemy.
He also began to feel certain pricking sensations in his right leg as well as in his conscience. The leg grew more painful as he advanced, and, on examination of the limb by feeling, he found, to his surprise, that he had received a bullet-wound in the thigh. Moreover he discovered that his trousers were wet with blood, and that there was a continuous flow of the vital fluid from the wound. This at once accounted to him for some very unusual feelings of faintness which had come over him, and which he had at first attributed to his frequent and violent falls.
The importance of checking the haemorrhage was so obvious, that he at once sat down and did his best to bind up the wound with the red cotton kerchief that encircled his neck. Having accomplished this as well as he could in the dark, he resumed his journey, and, after several hours of laborious scrambling, at last came to a halt with a feeling of very considerable, and to him unusual, exhaustion.
Again he sat down on what seemed to be a bed of moss, and began to meditate.
“Impossible to go further!” he thought. “I feel quite knocked up. Strange! I never felt like this before. It must have been the tumbles that did it, or it may be that I’ve lost more blood than I suppose. I’ll rest a bit now, and begin a search for Fergus by the first streak of dawn.”
In pursuance of this intention, the wearied man lay down, and putting his head on a mossy pillow, fell into a profound sleep, which was not broken till the sun was high in the heavens on the following day.
When at last he did awake, and attempted to sit up, Dan felt, to his surprise and no small alarm, that he was as weak as a child, that his leg lay in a pool of coagulated gore, and that blood was still slowly trickling from the wound in his thigh.
Although disposed to lie down and give way to an almost irresistible tendency to slumber, Dan was too well aware that death stared him in the face to succumb to the feeling without a struggle. He therefore made a mighty effort of will; sat up; undid the soaking bandage, and proceeded to extemporise a sort of tourniquet with it and a short piece of stick.
The contrivance, rude as it was, proved effectual, for it stopped the bleeding, but Dan could not help feeling that he had already lost so much blood that he was reduced almost to the last stage of exhaustion, and that another hour or two would probably see the close of his earthly career. Nothing, perhaps, could have impressed this truth upon him so forcibly as his inability to shout when he tried to do so.
In the faint hope that Fergus might be within call, he raised his voice with the full knowledge that he ran the risk of attracting a foe instead of a comrade. The sound that complied with the impulse of his will would have made him laugh if he had not felt an amazing and unaccountable disposition to cry. Up to that period of his life—almost from his earliest babyhood—Dan Davidson’s capacious chest had always contained the machinery, and the power, to make the nursery or the welkin ring with almost unparalleled violence. Now, the chest, though still capacious, and still full of the machinery, seemed to have totally lost the power, for the intended shout came forth in a gasp and ended in a sigh.
It was much the same when he essayed to rise. His legs almost refused to support him; everything appeared to swim before his eyes, and he sank down again listlessly on the ground. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, the strong man had the conviction effectually carried home to him that he was mortal, and could become helpless. The advantage of early training by a godly mother became apparent in this hour of weakness, for his first impulse was to pray for help, and the resulting effect—whether men choose to call it natural or supernatural—was at least partial relief from anxiety, and that degree of comfort which almost invariably arises from a state of resignation.
After a brief rest, the power of active thought revived a little, and Dan, again raising himself on one elbow, tried to rouse himself to the necessity of immediate action of some sort if his life was to be saved.
The spot on which he had lain, or rather fallen down, on the preceding night happened to be the fringe of the forest where it bordered on an extensive plain or stretch of prairie land. It was surrounded by a dense growth of trees and bushes, except on the side next the plain, where an opening permitted of an extensive view over the undulating country. No better spot could have been chosen, even in broad daylight, for an encampment, than had been thus fallen upon by the hunter in the darkness of night.
But the poor man felt at once that this advantage could be of no avail to him, for in the haste of landing he had thought only of his gun, and had left his axe, with the bag containing materials for making fire, in the canoe. Fortunately he had not divested himself of his powder-horn or shot-pouch, so he was not without the means of procuring food, but of what use could these be, he reflected, if he had not strength to use them?
Once again, in the energy of determination, he rose up and shouldered his gun with the intention of making his way across the plain, in the hope that he might at all events reach the wigwam of some wandering Indian, but he trembled so from excessive weakness that he was obliged to give up the attempt, and again sank down with feelings akin to despair.
To add to his distress, hunger now assailed him so violently that he would have roasted and eaten his moccasins—as many a starving man had done before him, though without much benefit—but even this resource was denied him for the want of fire, and raw moccasin was not only indigestible but uneatable!
Still, as it seemed his only hope, he gathered a few dry twigs and sticks together, drew the charge from his gun and sought to kindle some mossy lichen into flame by flashing the priming in the pan of the lock. Recent rains had damped everything, however, and his attempts proved abortive. Fortunately the weather was warm, so that he did not suffer from cold.
While he was yet labouring assiduously to accomplish his purpose, the whir of wings was heard overhead. Glancing quickly up, he perceived that a small flock of willow-grouse had settled on the bushes close to him. He was not surprised, though very thankful, for these birds were numerous enough and he had heard them flying about from time to time, but that they should settle down so near was exceedingly opportune and unexpected.
With eager haste and caution he rammed home the charge he had so recently withdrawn—keeping his eyes fixed longingly on the game all the time. That the birds saw him was obvious, for they kept turning their heads from side to side and looking down at him with curiosity. By good fortune grouse of this kind are sometimes very stupid as well as tame. They did not take alarm at Dan’s motions, but craned their necks and seemed to eye him with considerable curiosity. Even when he tried to take aim at them their general aspect suggested that they were asking, mentally, “What next?”
But Dan found that he could not aim. The point of the gun wavered around as it might have done in the hands of a child.
With a short—almost contemptuous—laugh at his ridiculous incapacity, Dan lowered the gun.
Stupid as they were, the laugh was too much for the birds. They spread their wings.
“Now or never!” exclaimed Dan aloud. He pointed his gun straight at the flock; took no aim, and fired!
The result was that a plump specimen dropped almost at his feet. If he had been able to cheer he would have done so. But he was not, so he thanked God, fervently, instead.
Again the poor man essayed to kindle a fire, but in trying to do this with gunpowder he made the startling discovery that he had only one more charge in his powder-horn. He therefore re-loaded his gun, wiped out the pan and primed with care, feeling that this might be the last thing that would stand between him and starvation. It might have stood between him and something worse—but of that, more hereafter.
Starving men are not particular. That day Dan did what he would have believed to have been, in him, an impossibility—he drank the blood of the bird and ate its flesh raw!
“After all,” thought he, while engaged in this half-cannibalistic deed, “what’s the difference between raw grouse and raw oyster?”
It is but right to add that he did not philosophise much on the subject. Having consumed his meal, he lay down beside his gun and slept the sleep of the weary.