Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Seventeen.Attacked by a Wolf.On the Monday morning, Alfred and Martin went to the cow-house, and slaughtered the bullock which they had obtained from the commandant of the fort. When it was skinned it was cut up, and carried to the store-house, where it was hung up for their winter consumption.As the party were sitting down to dinner, they were greeted by Captain Sinclair and a young lieutenant of the garrison. It hardly need be said that the whole family were delighted to see them. They had come overland in their snow-shoes, and brought some partridges, or grouse, as they are some times called, which they had shot on their way. Captain Sinclair had obtained leave from the commandant to come over and see how the Campbells were getting on. He had no news of any importance, as they had had no recent communication with Quebec or Montreal; all was well at the fort, and Colonel Forster had sent his compliments, and begged, if he could be useful, that they would let him know. Captain Sinclair and his friend sat down to dinner, and talked more than they ate, asking questions about everything.“By-the-bye, Mr Campbell, where have you built your pigsties?”“Inside the palisade, next to the fowl-house.”“That is well,” replied Captain Sinclair, “for otherwise you may be troubled by the wolves, who are very partial to pork or mutton.”“Wehavebeen troubled with them,” replied Emma; “at least with their howlings at night, which make me tremble as I lie awake in bed.”“Never mind their howling, Miss Emma; we have plenty of them round the fort, I can assure you; unless attacked, they will not attack you, at least I never knew an instance, although I must confess that I have heard of them.”“You will, of course, sleep here to-night?”“Yes, we will, if you have a bear or buffalo skin to spare,” replied Captain Sinclair.“We will manage it, I have no doubt,” said Mr Campbell.“And if you could manage, Captain Sinclair,” said Emma, somewhat archly, “as you say that they are not dangerous animals, to bring us in a few skins to-night, it would make the matter easy.”“Emma, how can you talk such nonsense?” cried Mary Percival. “Why should you ask a guest to undertake such a service? Why have you not proposed it to Alfred or Henry, or even Martin?”“We will both try, if you please,” replied Alfred.“I must put my veto on any such attempts, Alfred,” said Mr Campbell. “We have sufficient danger to meet, without running into it voluntarily, and we have no occasion for wolves’ skins just now. I shall, however, venture to ask your assistance to-morrow morning. We wish to haul up the fishing-punt before the ice sets in on the lake, and we are not sufficiently strong-handed.”During the day, Captain Sinclair took Alfred aside to know if the old hunter had obtained any information relative to the Indians. Alfred replied, that they expected him every day, but as yet had not received any communication from him. Captain Sinclair stated that they were equally ignorant at the fort as to what had been finally arranged, and that Colonel Forster was in hopes that the hunter would by this time have obtained some intelligence.“I should not be surprised if Malachi Bone were to comehere to-morrow morning,” replied Alfred. “He has been away a long while, and, I am sure, is as anxious to have John with him as John is impatient to go.”“Well, I hope he will; I shall be glad to have something to tell the Colonel, as I made the request upon that ground. I believe, however, he was very willing that I should find an excuse for coming here, as he is more anxious about your family than I could have supposed. How well your cousin Mary is looking.”“Yes; and so is Emma, I think. She has grown half a head since she left England. By-the-bye, you have to congratulate me on my obtaining my rank as Lieutenant.”“I do indeed, my dear fellow,” replied Captain Sinclair. “They will be pleased to hear it at the fort. When will you come over?”“As soon as I can manage to trot a little faster upon these snow-shoes. If, however, the old hunter does not come to-morrow, I will go to the fort as soon as he brings us any news.”The accession to their party made them all very lively, and the evening passed away very agreeably. At night, Captain Sinclair and Mr Gwynne were ushered into the large bedroom where all the younger male portion of the family slept, and which, as we before stated, had two spare bed-places.The next morning, Captain Sinclair would have accompanied the Misses Percival on their milking expedition, but as his services were required to haul up the fishing-punt, he was obliged to go down, with all the rest of the men, to assist; Percival and John were the only ones left at home with Mrs Campbell. John, after a time, having, as usual, rubbed down his rifle, threw it on his shoulder, and, calling the dogs which lay about, sallied forth for a walk, followed by the whole pack except old Sancho, who invariably accompanied the girls to the cow-house.Mary and Emma tripped over the new-beaten snow-path to the cow-house, merry and cheerful, with their pails in their hands, Emma laughing at Captain Sinclair’s disappointment at not being permitted to accompany them. They had just arrived at the cow-house, when old Sancho barked furiously, and sprang to the side of the building behind them, and in a moment afterwards rolled down the snow heap which he had sprung over, holding on and held fast by a large black wolf. The struggle was not very long, and during the time that it lasted the girls were so panic-struck, that they remained like statues within two yards of the animals. Gradually the old dog was overpowered by the repeated snapping bites of the wolf, yet he fought nobly to the last, when he dropped under the feet of the wolf, his tongue hanging out, bleeding profusely and lifeless. As soon as his adversary was overpowered, the enraged animal, with his feet upon the body of the dog, bristling his hair and showing his powerful teeth, was evidently about to attack the young women. Emma threw her arm round Mary’s waist, advancing her body so as to save her sister. Mary attempted the same, and then they remained waiting in horror for the expected spring of the animal, when of a sudden the other dogs came rushing forward, cheered on by John, and flew upon the animal.Their united strength soon tore him down to the ground, and John coming up, as the wolf defended himself against his new assailants, put the muzzle of his rifle to the animal’s head, and shot it dead.The two sisters had held up during the whole of this alarming struggle; but as soon as they perceived the wolf was dead and that they were safe, Mary could stand no longer, and sank down on her knees, supporting her sister, who had become insensible.If John showed gallantry in shooting the wolf, he certainly showed very little towards his cousins. He looked at Mary, nodded his head towards the wolfs body, and saying “He’s dead,” shouldered his rifle, turned round and walked back to the house.On his return, he found that the party had just come back from hauling up the punt, and were waiting the return of the Misses Percival to go to breakfast.“Was that you who fired just now, John?” said Martin.“Yes,” replied John.“What did you fire at?” said Alfred.“A wolf,” replied John.“A wolf! where?” said Mr Campbell.“At the cow-lodge,” replied John.“The cow-lodge!” said his father.“Yes; killed Sancho!”“Killed Sancho! why, Sancho was with your cousins!”“Yes,” replied John.“Then, where did you leave them?”“With the wolf,” replied John, wiping his rifle very coolly.“Merciful Heaven!” cried Mr Campbell, as Mrs Campbell turned pale; and Alfred, Captain Sinclair, Martin, and Henry, seizing their rifles, darted out from the house, and ran with all speed in the direction of the cow-house.“My poor girls!” exclaimed Mr Campbell.“Wolfs dead, father,” said John.“Dead! Why didn’t you say so, you naughty boy?” cried Mrs Campbell.“I wasn’t asked,” replied John.In the meantime the other party had gained the cow-house; and, to their horror, beheld the wolf and dog dead, and the two young women lying on the snow, close to the two animals; for Mary had fainted away shortly after John had walked off. They rushed towards the bodies of the two girls, and soon discovered that they were not hurt. In a short time they were recovered, and were supported by the young men to the house.As soon as they arrived, Mrs Campbell took them into their room, that they might rally their spirits, and in a quarter of an hour returned to the party outside, who eagerly inquired how they were.“They are much more composed,” replied Mrs Campbell; “and Emma has begun to laugh again; but her laugh is rather hysterical and forced; they will come out at dinnertime. It appears that they are indebted to John for their preservation, for they say the wolf was about to spring upon them when he came to their assistance. We ought to be very grateful to Heaven for their preservation. I had no idea, after what Martin said about the wolves, that they were so dangerous.”“Why, ma’am, it is I that am most to blame, and that’s the fact,” replied Martin. “When we killed the bullock I threw the offal on the heap of snow close to the cow-lodge, meaning that the wolves and other animals might eat it at night, but it seems that this animal was hungry, and had not left his meal when the dog attacked him, and that made the beast so rily and savage.”“Yes; it was the fault of Martin and me,” replied Alfred. “Thank Heaven it’s no worse!”“So far from its being a subject of regret, I consider it one of thankfulness,” replied Mr Campbell. “This might have happened when there was no one to assist, and our dear girls might have been torn to pieces. Now that we know the danger, we may guard against it for the future.”“Yes, sir,” replied Martin; “in future some of us will drive the cows home, to be milked every morning and evening; inside the palisade there will be no danger. Master John, you have done well. You see, ma’am,” continued Martin, “what I said has come true. A rifle in the hands of a child is as deadly a weapon as in the hands of a strong man.”“Yes, if courage and presence of mind attend its uses,” replied Mr Campbell. “John, I am very much pleased with your conduct.”“Mother called me naughty,” replied John rather sulkily.“Yes, John, I called you naughty, for not telling us the wolf was dead, and leaving us to suppose that your cousins were in danger; not for killing the wolf. Now I kiss you, and thank you for your bravery and good conduct.”“I shall tell all the officers at the fort, what a gallant little fellow you are, John,” said Captain Sinclair; “there are very few of them who have shot a wolf, and what is more, John, I have a beautiful dog, which one of the officers gave me the other day in exchange for a pony, and I will bring it over, and make it a present to you for your own dog. He will hunt anything, and he is very powerful—quite able to master a wolf, if you meet with one. He is half mastiff and half Scotch deerhound, and he stands as high as this,” continued Captain Sinclair, holding his hand about as high as John’s shoulder.“I’ll go to the fort with you,” said John, “and bring him back.”“So you shall, John, and I’ll go with you,” said Martin, “if master pleases.”“Well,” replied Mr Campbell, “I think he may; what with Martin, his own rifle, and the dog, John will, I trust, be safe enough.”“Certainly, I have no objection,” said Mrs Campbell, “and many thanks to you, Captain Sinclair.”“What’s the dog’s name?” said John.“Oscar,” replied Captain Sinclair. “If you let him walk out with your cousins, they need not fear a wolf. He will never be mastered by one, as poor Sancho was.”“I’ll lend him sometimes,” replied John.“Always; when you don’t want him yourself, John.”“Yes, always,” replied John, who was going out of the door.“Where are you going, dear,” said Mrs Campbell.“Going to skin the wolf,” replied John, walking away.“Well, he’ll be a regular keen hunter,” observed Martin. “I dare say old Bone has taught him to flay an animal. However I’ll go and help him, for it’s a real good skin.” So saying, Martin followed John.“Martin ought to have known better than to leave the offal where he did,” observed Captain Sinclair.“We must not be too hard, Captain Sinclair,” said Alfred. “Martin has a contempt for wolves, and that wolf would not have stood his ground had it been a man instead of two young women who were in face of him. Wolves are very cunning, and I know will attack a woman or child when they will fly from a man. Besides, it is very unusual for a wolf to remain till daylight, even when there is offal to tempt him. It was the offal, the animal’s extreme hunger, and the attack of the dog—a combination of circumstances—which produced the event. I do not see that Martin can be blamed, as one cannot foresee everything.”“Perhaps not,” replied Captain Sinclair, “and ‘all’s well that ends well.’”“Are there any other animals to fear?” inquired Mrs Campbell.“The bear is now safe for the winter in the hollow of some tree or under some root, where he has made a den. It will not come out till the spring. The catamount or panther is a much more dangerous animal than the wolf; but it is scarce. I do think, however, that the young ladies should not venture out, unless with some rifles in company, for fear of another mischance. We have plenty of lynxes here; but I doubt if they would attack even a child, although they fight when assailed, and bite and claw severely.”The Misses Percival now made their appearance. Emma was very merry, but Mary rather grave. Captain Sinclair, having shaken hands with them both, said—“Why, Emma, you appear to have recovered sooner than your sister!”“Yes,” replied Emma; “but I was much more frightened than she was, and she supported me, or I should have fallen at the wolf’s feet. I yielded to my fears; Mary held up against hers; so, as her exertions were much greater than mine, she has not recovered from them so soon. The fact is, Mary is brave when there is danger, and I am only brave when there is none.”“I was quite as much frightened as you, my dear Emma,” said Mary Percival; “but we must now help our aunt, and get dinner ready on the table.”“I cannot say that I have a wolfish appetite this morning,” replied Emma, laughing; “but Alfred will eat for me and himself too.” In a few minutes dinner was on the table, and they all sat down without waiting for Martin and John, who were still busy skinning the wolf.

On the Monday morning, Alfred and Martin went to the cow-house, and slaughtered the bullock which they had obtained from the commandant of the fort. When it was skinned it was cut up, and carried to the store-house, where it was hung up for their winter consumption.

As the party were sitting down to dinner, they were greeted by Captain Sinclair and a young lieutenant of the garrison. It hardly need be said that the whole family were delighted to see them. They had come overland in their snow-shoes, and brought some partridges, or grouse, as they are some times called, which they had shot on their way. Captain Sinclair had obtained leave from the commandant to come over and see how the Campbells were getting on. He had no news of any importance, as they had had no recent communication with Quebec or Montreal; all was well at the fort, and Colonel Forster had sent his compliments, and begged, if he could be useful, that they would let him know. Captain Sinclair and his friend sat down to dinner, and talked more than they ate, asking questions about everything.

“By-the-bye, Mr Campbell, where have you built your pigsties?”

“Inside the palisade, next to the fowl-house.”

“That is well,” replied Captain Sinclair, “for otherwise you may be troubled by the wolves, who are very partial to pork or mutton.”

“Wehavebeen troubled with them,” replied Emma; “at least with their howlings at night, which make me tremble as I lie awake in bed.”

“Never mind their howling, Miss Emma; we have plenty of them round the fort, I can assure you; unless attacked, they will not attack you, at least I never knew an instance, although I must confess that I have heard of them.”

“You will, of course, sleep here to-night?”

“Yes, we will, if you have a bear or buffalo skin to spare,” replied Captain Sinclair.

“We will manage it, I have no doubt,” said Mr Campbell.

“And if you could manage, Captain Sinclair,” said Emma, somewhat archly, “as you say that they are not dangerous animals, to bring us in a few skins to-night, it would make the matter easy.”

“Emma, how can you talk such nonsense?” cried Mary Percival. “Why should you ask a guest to undertake such a service? Why have you not proposed it to Alfred or Henry, or even Martin?”

“We will both try, if you please,” replied Alfred.

“I must put my veto on any such attempts, Alfred,” said Mr Campbell. “We have sufficient danger to meet, without running into it voluntarily, and we have no occasion for wolves’ skins just now. I shall, however, venture to ask your assistance to-morrow morning. We wish to haul up the fishing-punt before the ice sets in on the lake, and we are not sufficiently strong-handed.”

During the day, Captain Sinclair took Alfred aside to know if the old hunter had obtained any information relative to the Indians. Alfred replied, that they expected him every day, but as yet had not received any communication from him. Captain Sinclair stated that they were equally ignorant at the fort as to what had been finally arranged, and that Colonel Forster was in hopes that the hunter would by this time have obtained some intelligence.

“I should not be surprised if Malachi Bone were to comehere to-morrow morning,” replied Alfred. “He has been away a long while, and, I am sure, is as anxious to have John with him as John is impatient to go.”

“Well, I hope he will; I shall be glad to have something to tell the Colonel, as I made the request upon that ground. I believe, however, he was very willing that I should find an excuse for coming here, as he is more anxious about your family than I could have supposed. How well your cousin Mary is looking.”

“Yes; and so is Emma, I think. She has grown half a head since she left England. By-the-bye, you have to congratulate me on my obtaining my rank as Lieutenant.”

“I do indeed, my dear fellow,” replied Captain Sinclair. “They will be pleased to hear it at the fort. When will you come over?”

“As soon as I can manage to trot a little faster upon these snow-shoes. If, however, the old hunter does not come to-morrow, I will go to the fort as soon as he brings us any news.”

The accession to their party made them all very lively, and the evening passed away very agreeably. At night, Captain Sinclair and Mr Gwynne were ushered into the large bedroom where all the younger male portion of the family slept, and which, as we before stated, had two spare bed-places.

The next morning, Captain Sinclair would have accompanied the Misses Percival on their milking expedition, but as his services were required to haul up the fishing-punt, he was obliged to go down, with all the rest of the men, to assist; Percival and John were the only ones left at home with Mrs Campbell. John, after a time, having, as usual, rubbed down his rifle, threw it on his shoulder, and, calling the dogs which lay about, sallied forth for a walk, followed by the whole pack except old Sancho, who invariably accompanied the girls to the cow-house.

Mary and Emma tripped over the new-beaten snow-path to the cow-house, merry and cheerful, with their pails in their hands, Emma laughing at Captain Sinclair’s disappointment at not being permitted to accompany them. They had just arrived at the cow-house, when old Sancho barked furiously, and sprang to the side of the building behind them, and in a moment afterwards rolled down the snow heap which he had sprung over, holding on and held fast by a large black wolf. The struggle was not very long, and during the time that it lasted the girls were so panic-struck, that they remained like statues within two yards of the animals. Gradually the old dog was overpowered by the repeated snapping bites of the wolf, yet he fought nobly to the last, when he dropped under the feet of the wolf, his tongue hanging out, bleeding profusely and lifeless. As soon as his adversary was overpowered, the enraged animal, with his feet upon the body of the dog, bristling his hair and showing his powerful teeth, was evidently about to attack the young women. Emma threw her arm round Mary’s waist, advancing her body so as to save her sister. Mary attempted the same, and then they remained waiting in horror for the expected spring of the animal, when of a sudden the other dogs came rushing forward, cheered on by John, and flew upon the animal.

Their united strength soon tore him down to the ground, and John coming up, as the wolf defended himself against his new assailants, put the muzzle of his rifle to the animal’s head, and shot it dead.

The two sisters had held up during the whole of this alarming struggle; but as soon as they perceived the wolf was dead and that they were safe, Mary could stand no longer, and sank down on her knees, supporting her sister, who had become insensible.

If John showed gallantry in shooting the wolf, he certainly showed very little towards his cousins. He looked at Mary, nodded his head towards the wolfs body, and saying “He’s dead,” shouldered his rifle, turned round and walked back to the house.

On his return, he found that the party had just come back from hauling up the punt, and were waiting the return of the Misses Percival to go to breakfast.

“Was that you who fired just now, John?” said Martin.

“Yes,” replied John.

“What did you fire at?” said Alfred.

“A wolf,” replied John.

“A wolf! where?” said Mr Campbell.

“At the cow-lodge,” replied John.

“The cow-lodge!” said his father.

“Yes; killed Sancho!”

“Killed Sancho! why, Sancho was with your cousins!”

“Yes,” replied John.

“Then, where did you leave them?”

“With the wolf,” replied John, wiping his rifle very coolly.

“Merciful Heaven!” cried Mr Campbell, as Mrs Campbell turned pale; and Alfred, Captain Sinclair, Martin, and Henry, seizing their rifles, darted out from the house, and ran with all speed in the direction of the cow-house.

“My poor girls!” exclaimed Mr Campbell.

“Wolfs dead, father,” said John.

“Dead! Why didn’t you say so, you naughty boy?” cried Mrs Campbell.

“I wasn’t asked,” replied John.

In the meantime the other party had gained the cow-house; and, to their horror, beheld the wolf and dog dead, and the two young women lying on the snow, close to the two animals; for Mary had fainted away shortly after John had walked off. They rushed towards the bodies of the two girls, and soon discovered that they were not hurt. In a short time they were recovered, and were supported by the young men to the house.

As soon as they arrived, Mrs Campbell took them into their room, that they might rally their spirits, and in a quarter of an hour returned to the party outside, who eagerly inquired how they were.

“They are much more composed,” replied Mrs Campbell; “and Emma has begun to laugh again; but her laugh is rather hysterical and forced; they will come out at dinnertime. It appears that they are indebted to John for their preservation, for they say the wolf was about to spring upon them when he came to their assistance. We ought to be very grateful to Heaven for their preservation. I had no idea, after what Martin said about the wolves, that they were so dangerous.”

“Why, ma’am, it is I that am most to blame, and that’s the fact,” replied Martin. “When we killed the bullock I threw the offal on the heap of snow close to the cow-lodge, meaning that the wolves and other animals might eat it at night, but it seems that this animal was hungry, and had not left his meal when the dog attacked him, and that made the beast so rily and savage.”

“Yes; it was the fault of Martin and me,” replied Alfred. “Thank Heaven it’s no worse!”

“So far from its being a subject of regret, I consider it one of thankfulness,” replied Mr Campbell. “This might have happened when there was no one to assist, and our dear girls might have been torn to pieces. Now that we know the danger, we may guard against it for the future.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Martin; “in future some of us will drive the cows home, to be milked every morning and evening; inside the palisade there will be no danger. Master John, you have done well. You see, ma’am,” continued Martin, “what I said has come true. A rifle in the hands of a child is as deadly a weapon as in the hands of a strong man.”

“Yes, if courage and presence of mind attend its uses,” replied Mr Campbell. “John, I am very much pleased with your conduct.”

“Mother called me naughty,” replied John rather sulkily.

“Yes, John, I called you naughty, for not telling us the wolf was dead, and leaving us to suppose that your cousins were in danger; not for killing the wolf. Now I kiss you, and thank you for your bravery and good conduct.”

“I shall tell all the officers at the fort, what a gallant little fellow you are, John,” said Captain Sinclair; “there are very few of them who have shot a wolf, and what is more, John, I have a beautiful dog, which one of the officers gave me the other day in exchange for a pony, and I will bring it over, and make it a present to you for your own dog. He will hunt anything, and he is very powerful—quite able to master a wolf, if you meet with one. He is half mastiff and half Scotch deerhound, and he stands as high as this,” continued Captain Sinclair, holding his hand about as high as John’s shoulder.

“I’ll go to the fort with you,” said John, “and bring him back.”

“So you shall, John, and I’ll go with you,” said Martin, “if master pleases.”

“Well,” replied Mr Campbell, “I think he may; what with Martin, his own rifle, and the dog, John will, I trust, be safe enough.”

“Certainly, I have no objection,” said Mrs Campbell, “and many thanks to you, Captain Sinclair.”

“What’s the dog’s name?” said John.

“Oscar,” replied Captain Sinclair. “If you let him walk out with your cousins, they need not fear a wolf. He will never be mastered by one, as poor Sancho was.”

“I’ll lend him sometimes,” replied John.

“Always; when you don’t want him yourself, John.”

“Yes, always,” replied John, who was going out of the door.

“Where are you going, dear,” said Mrs Campbell.

“Going to skin the wolf,” replied John, walking away.

“Well, he’ll be a regular keen hunter,” observed Martin. “I dare say old Bone has taught him to flay an animal. However I’ll go and help him, for it’s a real good skin.” So saying, Martin followed John.

“Martin ought to have known better than to leave the offal where he did,” observed Captain Sinclair.

“We must not be too hard, Captain Sinclair,” said Alfred. “Martin has a contempt for wolves, and that wolf would not have stood his ground had it been a man instead of two young women who were in face of him. Wolves are very cunning, and I know will attack a woman or child when they will fly from a man. Besides, it is very unusual for a wolf to remain till daylight, even when there is offal to tempt him. It was the offal, the animal’s extreme hunger, and the attack of the dog—a combination of circumstances—which produced the event. I do not see that Martin can be blamed, as one cannot foresee everything.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Captain Sinclair, “and ‘all’s well that ends well.’”

“Are there any other animals to fear?” inquired Mrs Campbell.

“The bear is now safe for the winter in the hollow of some tree or under some root, where he has made a den. It will not come out till the spring. The catamount or panther is a much more dangerous animal than the wolf; but it is scarce. I do think, however, that the young ladies should not venture out, unless with some rifles in company, for fear of another mischance. We have plenty of lynxes here; but I doubt if they would attack even a child, although they fight when assailed, and bite and claw severely.”

The Misses Percival now made their appearance. Emma was very merry, but Mary rather grave. Captain Sinclair, having shaken hands with them both, said—

“Why, Emma, you appear to have recovered sooner than your sister!”

“Yes,” replied Emma; “but I was much more frightened than she was, and she supported me, or I should have fallen at the wolf’s feet. I yielded to my fears; Mary held up against hers; so, as her exertions were much greater than mine, she has not recovered from them so soon. The fact is, Mary is brave when there is danger, and I am only brave when there is none.”

“I was quite as much frightened as you, my dear Emma,” said Mary Percival; “but we must now help our aunt, and get dinner ready on the table.”

“I cannot say that I have a wolfish appetite this morning,” replied Emma, laughing; “but Alfred will eat for me and himself too.” In a few minutes dinner was on the table, and they all sat down without waiting for Martin and John, who were still busy skinning the wolf.

Chapter Eighteen.The Angry Snake.“Here come Martin and John at last,” said Mr Campbell, after they had been about a quarter of an hour at table.But he was mistaken; instead of Martin and John, Malachi Bone made his appearance, and, to their surprise, he was accompanied by his young squaw, the Strawberry-Plant.Everyone rose to welcome them, and the Misses Percival went to their little female acquaintance, and would have made her sit down with them, but she refused, and took her seat on the floor near the fire.“She an’t used to chairs and stools, miss; let her be where she is,” said old Bone, “she’ll be more comfortable, and that’s what you want her to be, I’m sure. I brought her with me, because I could not carry all the venison myself, and also to shew her the way in and out of the house, and how it is fastened, in case of sending a message by night.”“Of sending a message by night,” said Mrs Campbell, with surprise, “why, what possible occasion could there be for that?”Captain Sinclair and Alfred, who perceived that the old hunter had said too much, were quite at a loss what to say.They did not like to frighten Mrs Campbell and the girls about the Indians, especially as they had just been so much alarmed with the accident of the morning. At last Alfred replied, “The fact is, my dear mother, that ‘forewarned is being forearmed,’ as the saying is; and I told Martin to request Malachi Bone, if he should hear of any Indians being about or near us, to let us know immediately.”“Yes, ma’am, that is the whole story,” continued Malachi. “It’s the best plan when you’re in the woods always to have your rifle loaded.”Mrs Campbell and the girls were evidently not a little fluttered at this fresh intimation of danger. Captain Sinclair perceived it, and said, “We have always spies on the look-out at the fort, that we may know where the Indians are and what they are about. Last month, we know that they held a council, but that it broke up without their coming to any determination, and that no hostile feeling was expressed so far as we could ascertain. But we never trust the Indians, and they, knowing that we watch them, have been very careful not to commit any outrages; they have not done so for a long while, nor do I think they will venture again. At the same time, we like to know where they are, and I requested Alfred to speak to Malachi Bone, to send us immediately word if he heard or saw anything of them: not, however, that I intended that the ladies should be wakened up in the middle of the night,” continued Captain Sinclair, laughing; “that was not at all necessary.”Malachi Bone would have responded, but Alfred pinched his arm; the old man understood what was meant, and held his tongue; at last he said, “Well, well, there’s no harm done; it’s just as well that the Strawberry should know her way about the location, if it’s only to know where the dogs are, in case she comes of a message.”“No, no,” replied Mr Campbell, “I’m glad that she is come, and hope she will come very often. Now, Malachi, sit down and eat something.”“Well, but about the Indians, Captain Sinclair,” said Mrs Campbell;—“that you have not told us all I am certain, and the conviction that such is the case, will make me and the girls very uneasy; so pray do treat us as we ought to be treated; we share the danger, and we ought to know what the danger is.”“I do not think that there is any danger, Mrs Campbell,” replied Captain Sinclair, “unless Malachi has further information to give us. I do, however, perfectly agree with you, that you ought to know all that we know, and am quite ready to enter upon the subject, trifling as it is.”“So I presume it must be, my dear,” observed Mr Campbell, “for I have as yet known nothing about the matter. So pray, Captain Sinclair, instruct us all.”Captain Sinclair then stated what he had before mentioned to Alfred, and having so done, and pointed out that there was no occasion for alarm, he requested Malachi Bone would say if he had any further information.“The Injuns did meet as you say, and they could not agree, so they broke up, and are now all out upon their hunting and trapping for furs. But there’s one thing I don’t exactly feel comfortable about, which is that the ‘Angry Snake,’ as he is called, was at the ‘talk,’ and was mighty venomous against the English, and has squatted for the winter somewhere about here.”“The Angry Snake,” said Captain Sinclair. “Is that the chief who served with the French, and wears a medal?”“The very same, sir. He’s not a chief, though; he was a very good warrior in his day, and the French were very partial to him, as he served them well; but he is no chief, although he was considered as a sort of one from the consequence he obtained with the French. He is an old man now, and a very bitter one. Many’s the Englishman that he has tied to the stake, and tortured during the war. He hates us, and is always stirring up the Injuns to make war with us; but his day is gone by, and they do not heed him at the council now.”“Then, why are you uncomfortable about him?” said Mr Campbell.“Because he has taken up his quarters for the winter hunting not far from us, with six or seven of the young warriors, who look up to him, and he is mischievous. If the Injun nation won’t make war, he will do something on his own account, if he possibly can. He’s not badly named, I can tell you.”“Will he attack you?”“Me! no, no; he knows better. He knows my rifle well; he has the mark on his body; not but that he would if he dared, but I am Injun myself, and know Injun craft. Then you see, these people have strange ideas. During the whole war they never could even hit me with their rifles, and they think I am not to be hurt—that’s their superstition—and my rifle, they think, never misses (they’re almost right there, for it does not once in a hundred times), so what with this and that, they fear me as a supernatural, as we call it. But that’s not the case with you all here; and if the Snake could creep within these palisades, he might be mischievous.”“But the tribes know very well that any attack of this kind would be considered as a declaration of hostilities,” said Captain Sinclair, “and that we should retaliate.”“Yes; but you see the Snake don’t belong to these tribes about us; his nation is much farther off,—too far to go for redress; and the tribes here, although they allow him to join the ‘talk’ as an old warrior who had served against the English and from respect to his age, do not acknowledge him or his doings. They would disavow them immediately and with truth, but they cannot prevent his doing mischief.”“What, then, is the redress in case of his doing any mischief?” said Henry.“Why, upon him and his band, whenever you can find them. You may destroy them all, and the Injuns here won’t say a word, or make any complaint. That’s all that can be done; and that’s what I will do; I mean to tell him so, when I meet him. He fears me, and so do his men; they think me medicine.”“Medicine! What is that?” said Henry.“It means that he has a charmed life,” replied Captain Sinclair. “The Indians are very superstitious.”“Yes, they be; well, perhaps, I’ll prove medicine; and I’ll give them a pill or two out of my rifle,” said Malachi, with a grim smile. “Howsomever, I’ll soon learn more about them, and will let you know when I do. Just keep your palisade gates fast at night and the dogs inside of them, and at any time I’ll give you warning. If I am on their trail the Strawberry shall come, and that’s why I brought her here. If you hear three knocks outside the palisade at any hour of the night, why it will be her, so let her in.”“Well,” said Mrs Campbell, “I’m very glad that you have told me all this; now I know what we have to expect I shall be more courageous and much more on my guard.”“I think we have done wisely in letting you know all we knew ourselves,” said Captain Sinclair. “I must soon take my leave, as I must be at the fort before sunset. Martin and John are to come with me, and bring back the dog.”“An’t the boy going with me?” said Malachi.“Yes; to-morrow morning he may go, but after his return from the fort it will be too late.”“Well, then, I may as well stay here,” replied Malachi. “Where is he?”“He is gone to skin a wolf, which he shot this morning,” replied Alfred. “He will soon be here.”Mrs Campbell shortly related to Malachi the adventure of the wolf. The old hunter listened in silence, and then gave a nod of approbation.“I reckon he’ll bring home more skins than that this winter,” said he.The party then rose just as Martin and John made their appearance. Captain Sinclair conversed with the Misses Percival, while the old hunter spoke to the Strawberry-Plant in her own dialect; the others either went out or were busy in clearing the table, till Captain Sinclair took his departure with John and Martin, each armed with a rifle.“Well, this has been an exciting day,” observed Mr Campbell, a little before they retired to bed. “We have much to thank God for, and great reason to pray for His continued protection and assistance. God bless you all, my children; good night.”

“Here come Martin and John at last,” said Mr Campbell, after they had been about a quarter of an hour at table.

But he was mistaken; instead of Martin and John, Malachi Bone made his appearance, and, to their surprise, he was accompanied by his young squaw, the Strawberry-Plant.

Everyone rose to welcome them, and the Misses Percival went to their little female acquaintance, and would have made her sit down with them, but she refused, and took her seat on the floor near the fire.

“She an’t used to chairs and stools, miss; let her be where she is,” said old Bone, “she’ll be more comfortable, and that’s what you want her to be, I’m sure. I brought her with me, because I could not carry all the venison myself, and also to shew her the way in and out of the house, and how it is fastened, in case of sending a message by night.”

“Of sending a message by night,” said Mrs Campbell, with surprise, “why, what possible occasion could there be for that?”

Captain Sinclair and Alfred, who perceived that the old hunter had said too much, were quite at a loss what to say.

They did not like to frighten Mrs Campbell and the girls about the Indians, especially as they had just been so much alarmed with the accident of the morning. At last Alfred replied, “The fact is, my dear mother, that ‘forewarned is being forearmed,’ as the saying is; and I told Martin to request Malachi Bone, if he should hear of any Indians being about or near us, to let us know immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am, that is the whole story,” continued Malachi. “It’s the best plan when you’re in the woods always to have your rifle loaded.”

Mrs Campbell and the girls were evidently not a little fluttered at this fresh intimation of danger. Captain Sinclair perceived it, and said, “We have always spies on the look-out at the fort, that we may know where the Indians are and what they are about. Last month, we know that they held a council, but that it broke up without their coming to any determination, and that no hostile feeling was expressed so far as we could ascertain. But we never trust the Indians, and they, knowing that we watch them, have been very careful not to commit any outrages; they have not done so for a long while, nor do I think they will venture again. At the same time, we like to know where they are, and I requested Alfred to speak to Malachi Bone, to send us immediately word if he heard or saw anything of them: not, however, that I intended that the ladies should be wakened up in the middle of the night,” continued Captain Sinclair, laughing; “that was not at all necessary.”

Malachi Bone would have responded, but Alfred pinched his arm; the old man understood what was meant, and held his tongue; at last he said, “Well, well, there’s no harm done; it’s just as well that the Strawberry should know her way about the location, if it’s only to know where the dogs are, in case she comes of a message.”

“No, no,” replied Mr Campbell, “I’m glad that she is come, and hope she will come very often. Now, Malachi, sit down and eat something.”

“Well, but about the Indians, Captain Sinclair,” said Mrs Campbell;—“that you have not told us all I am certain, and the conviction that such is the case, will make me and the girls very uneasy; so pray do treat us as we ought to be treated; we share the danger, and we ought to know what the danger is.”

“I do not think that there is any danger, Mrs Campbell,” replied Captain Sinclair, “unless Malachi has further information to give us. I do, however, perfectly agree with you, that you ought to know all that we know, and am quite ready to enter upon the subject, trifling as it is.”

“So I presume it must be, my dear,” observed Mr Campbell, “for I have as yet known nothing about the matter. So pray, Captain Sinclair, instruct us all.”

Captain Sinclair then stated what he had before mentioned to Alfred, and having so done, and pointed out that there was no occasion for alarm, he requested Malachi Bone would say if he had any further information.

“The Injuns did meet as you say, and they could not agree, so they broke up, and are now all out upon their hunting and trapping for furs. But there’s one thing I don’t exactly feel comfortable about, which is that the ‘Angry Snake,’ as he is called, was at the ‘talk,’ and was mighty venomous against the English, and has squatted for the winter somewhere about here.”

“The Angry Snake,” said Captain Sinclair. “Is that the chief who served with the French, and wears a medal?”

“The very same, sir. He’s not a chief, though; he was a very good warrior in his day, and the French were very partial to him, as he served them well; but he is no chief, although he was considered as a sort of one from the consequence he obtained with the French. He is an old man now, and a very bitter one. Many’s the Englishman that he has tied to the stake, and tortured during the war. He hates us, and is always stirring up the Injuns to make war with us; but his day is gone by, and they do not heed him at the council now.”

“Then, why are you uncomfortable about him?” said Mr Campbell.

“Because he has taken up his quarters for the winter hunting not far from us, with six or seven of the young warriors, who look up to him, and he is mischievous. If the Injun nation won’t make war, he will do something on his own account, if he possibly can. He’s not badly named, I can tell you.”

“Will he attack you?”

“Me! no, no; he knows better. He knows my rifle well; he has the mark on his body; not but that he would if he dared, but I am Injun myself, and know Injun craft. Then you see, these people have strange ideas. During the whole war they never could even hit me with their rifles, and they think I am not to be hurt—that’s their superstition—and my rifle, they think, never misses (they’re almost right there, for it does not once in a hundred times), so what with this and that, they fear me as a supernatural, as we call it. But that’s not the case with you all here; and if the Snake could creep within these palisades, he might be mischievous.”

“But the tribes know very well that any attack of this kind would be considered as a declaration of hostilities,” said Captain Sinclair, “and that we should retaliate.”

“Yes; but you see the Snake don’t belong to these tribes about us; his nation is much farther off,—too far to go for redress; and the tribes here, although they allow him to join the ‘talk’ as an old warrior who had served against the English and from respect to his age, do not acknowledge him or his doings. They would disavow them immediately and with truth, but they cannot prevent his doing mischief.”

“What, then, is the redress in case of his doing any mischief?” said Henry.

“Why, upon him and his band, whenever you can find them. You may destroy them all, and the Injuns here won’t say a word, or make any complaint. That’s all that can be done; and that’s what I will do; I mean to tell him so, when I meet him. He fears me, and so do his men; they think me medicine.”

“Medicine! What is that?” said Henry.

“It means that he has a charmed life,” replied Captain Sinclair. “The Indians are very superstitious.”

“Yes, they be; well, perhaps, I’ll prove medicine; and I’ll give them a pill or two out of my rifle,” said Malachi, with a grim smile. “Howsomever, I’ll soon learn more about them, and will let you know when I do. Just keep your palisade gates fast at night and the dogs inside of them, and at any time I’ll give you warning. If I am on their trail the Strawberry shall come, and that’s why I brought her here. If you hear three knocks outside the palisade at any hour of the night, why it will be her, so let her in.”

“Well,” said Mrs Campbell, “I’m very glad that you have told me all this; now I know what we have to expect I shall be more courageous and much more on my guard.”

“I think we have done wisely in letting you know all we knew ourselves,” said Captain Sinclair. “I must soon take my leave, as I must be at the fort before sunset. Martin and John are to come with me, and bring back the dog.”

“An’t the boy going with me?” said Malachi.

“Yes; to-morrow morning he may go, but after his return from the fort it will be too late.”

“Well, then, I may as well stay here,” replied Malachi. “Where is he?”

“He is gone to skin a wolf, which he shot this morning,” replied Alfred. “He will soon be here.”

Mrs Campbell shortly related to Malachi the adventure of the wolf. The old hunter listened in silence, and then gave a nod of approbation.

“I reckon he’ll bring home more skins than that this winter,” said he.

The party then rose just as Martin and John made their appearance. Captain Sinclair conversed with the Misses Percival, while the old hunter spoke to the Strawberry-Plant in her own dialect; the others either went out or were busy in clearing the table, till Captain Sinclair took his departure with John and Martin, each armed with a rifle.

“Well, this has been an exciting day,” observed Mr Campbell, a little before they retired to bed. “We have much to thank God for, and great reason to pray for His continued protection and assistance. God bless you all, my children; good night.”

Chapter Nineteen.Emma shoots a Wolf.The next morning, a little after daybreak, Martin and John made their appearance, leading the magnificent dog which Captain Sinclair had given to John. Like most large dogs, Oscar appeared to be very good-tempered, and treated the snarling and angry looks of the other dogs with perfect contempt.“It is, indeed, a noble animal,” said Mr Campbell, patting its head.“It’s a fine creature,” observed Malachi, “a wolf would stand no chance against him, and even a bear would have more on its hands than it could well manage, I expect; but, come here, boy,” said the old hunter to John, leading the way outside of the door.“You’d better leave the dog, John,” said Malachi, “the crittur will be of use here, but no good to us.”John made no reply, and the hunter continued, “I say it will be of use here, for the girls might meet with another wolf, or the house might be attacked; but good hunters don’t want dogs. Is it to watch for us, and give us notice of danger? Why that’s our duty, and we must trust to ourselves, and not to an animal. Is it to hunt for us? Why no dog can take a deer so well as we can with our rifles; a dog may discover us when we wish to be hidden; a dog’s track will mark us out when we would wish our track to be doubted. The animal will be of no utility ever to us, John, and may do us harm, ’specially now the snow’s on the ground. In the summer-time, you can take him and teach him how to behave as a hunter’s dog should behave; but we had better leave him now, start at once.”John nodded his head in assent, and then went indoors.“Good-bye,” said John, going up to his mother and cousins; “I shall not take the dog.”“Won’t take the dog! well, that’s very kind of you, John,” said Mary, “for we were longing to have him to protect us.”John shouldered his rifle, made a sign to Strawberry-Plant, who rose, and looking kindly at Mrs Campbell and the girls, without speaking, followed John out of the hut. Malachi certainly was not very polite, for he walked off, in company with John and the squaw, without taking the trouble to say “Good-bye.” It must, however, be observed that he was in conversation with Martin, who accompanied them on the way.The winter had now become very severe. The thermometer was twenty degrees below freezing point, and the cold was so intense, that every precaution was taken against it. More than once Percival, whose business it was to bring in the firewood, was frost-bitten, but as Mrs Campbell was very watchful, the remedy of cold snow was always successfully applied. The howling of the wolves continued every night, but they were now used to it, and the only effect was, when one came more than usually close to the house, to make Oscar raise his head, growl, listen awhile, and then lie down to sleep again. Oscar became very fond of the girls, and was their invariable companion whenever they left the house.Alfred, Martin, and Henry went out almost daily on hunting excursions; indeed, as there were no crops in the barn, they had little else to do. Mr Campbell remained at home with his wife and nieces; occasionally, but not very often, Percival accompanied the hunters; of Malachi and John they saw but little; John returned about every ten days, but although he adhered to his promise, his anxiety to go back to Malachi was so very apparent, and he was so restless, that Mrs Campbell rather wished him to be away, than remain at home so much against his will.Thus passed away the time till the year closed in; confined as they were by the severity of the weather, and having little or nothing to do, the winter appeared longer and more tedious than it would have done if they had been settled longer, and had the crops to occupy their attention; for it is in the winter that the Canadian farmer gets through all his thrashing and other work connected with his farm, preparatory for the coming spring. This being their first winter, they had, of course, no crops gathered in, and were, therefore, in want of employment. Mrs Campbell and her nieces worked and read, and employed themselves in every way that they could, but constantly shut up within doors, they could not help feeling the monotony andennuiof their situation. The young men found occupation and amusement in the chase; they brought in a variety of animals and skins, and the evenings were generally devoted to a narration of what occurred in the day during their hunting excursions, but even these histories of the chase were at last heard with indifference. It was the same theme, only with variations, over and over again, and there was no longer much excitement in listening.“I wonder when John will come back again,” observed Emma to her sister, as they were sitting at work.“Why he only left two days ago, so we must not expect him for some time.”“I know that. I wonder if Oscar would kill a wolf, I should like to take him out and try.”“I thought you had had enough of wolves already, Emma,” replied Mary.“Yes, well, that old Malachi will never bring us any more news about the Indians,” continued Emma, yawning.“Why I do not think that any news about them is likely to be pleasant news, Emma, and therefore why should you wish it.”“Why, my dear Mary, because I want some news; I want something to excite me, I feel so dull. It’s nothing but stitch, stitch, all day, and I am tired of always doing the same thing. What a horrid thing a Canadian winter is, and not one-half over yet.”“It is very dull and monotonous, my dear Emma, I admit, and if we had more variety of employment, we should find it more agreeable, but we ought to feel grateful that we have a good house over our heads, and more security than we anticipated.”“Almost too much security, Mary; I begin to feel that I could welcome an Indian even in his war-paint, just by way of a little change.”“I think you would soon repent of your wish, if it were gratified.”“Very likely, but I can’t help wishing it now. When will they come home? What o’clock is it? I wonder what they’ll bring, the old story I suppose, a buck; I’m sick of venison.”“Indeed, Emma, you are wrong to feel such discontent and weariness.”“Perhaps I am, but I have not walked a hundred yards for nearly one hundred days, and that will give one the blues, as they call them, and I do nothing but yawn, yawn, yawn, for want of air and exercise. Uncle won’t let us move on account of that horrid wolf. I wonder how Captain Sinclair is getting on at the fort, and whether he is as dull as we are.”To do Emma justice, it was seldom that she indulged herself in such lamentings, but the tedium was more than her high flow of spirits could well bear. Mrs Campbell made a point of arranging the household, which gave her occupation, and Mary from natural disposition did not feel the confinement as much as Emma did; whenever, therefore, she did shew symptoms of restlessness or was tempted to utter a complaint, they reasoned with and soothed, but never reproached her.The day after this conversation, Emma, to amuse herself, took a rifle and vent out with Percival. She fired several shots at a mark, and by degrees acquired some dexterity; gradually she became fond of the exercise, and not a day passed that she and Percival did not practise for an hour or two, until at last Emma could fire with great precision. Practice and a knowledge of the perfect use of your weapon gives confidence, and this Emma did at last acquire. She challenged Alfred and Henry to fire at the bull’s-eye with her, and whether by their gallantry or her superior dexterity, she was declared victor. Mr and Mrs Campbell smiled when Emma came in and narrated her success, and felt glad that she had found something which afforded her amusement.It happened that one evening the hunters were very late; it was a clear moonlight night, but at eight o’clock they had not made their appearance; Percival had opened the door to go out for some firewood which had been piled within the palisades, and as it was later than the usual hour for locking the palisade gates, Mr Campbell had directed him so to do. Emma, attracted by the beauty of the night, was at the door of the house, when the howl of a wolf was heard close to them; the dogs, accustomed to it, merely sprang on their feet, but did not leave the kitchen fire; Emma went out, and looked through the palisades to see if she could perceive the animal, and little Trim, the terrier, followed her. Now Trim was so small, that he could creep between the palisades, and as soon as he was close to them, perceiving the wolf, the courageous little animal squeezed through them and flew towards it, barking as loud as he could. Emma immediately ran in, took down her rifle and went out again, as she knew that poor Trim would soon be devoured. The supposition was correct, the wolf instead of retreating closed with the little dog and seized it. Emma, who could now plainly perceive the animal, which was about forty yards from her, took aim and fired, just as poor Trim gave a loud yelp. Her aim was good, and the wolf and dog lay side by side. Mr and Mrs Campbell, and Mary, hearing the report of the rifle, ran out, and found Percival and Emma at the palisades behind the house.“I have killed him, aunt,” said Emma, “but I fear he has killed poor little Trim; do let us go out and see.”“No, no, my dear Emma, that must not be; your cousins will be home soon, and then we shall know how the case stands; but the risk is too great.”“Here they come,” said Percival, “as fast as they can run.”The hunters were soon at the palisade door and admitted; they had no game with them. Emma jeered them for coming back empty-handed.“No, no, my little cousin,” replied Alfred, “we heard the report of a rifle, and we threw down our game, that we might sooner come to your assistance if you required it. What was the matter?”“Only that I have killed a wolf, and am not allowed to bring in my trophy,” replied Emma. “Come, Alfred, I may go with you and Martin.”They went to the spot, and found the wolf was dead, and poor Trim dead also by his side. They took in the body of the little dog, and left the wolf till the morning, when Martin said he would skin it for Miss Emma.“And I’ll make a footstool of it,” said Emma; “that shall be my revenge for the fright I had from the other wolf. Come, Oscar, good dog; you and I will go wolf-hunting. Dear me, who would have thought that I should have ever killed a wolf—poor little Trim!”Martin said it would be useless to return for the venison, as the wolves had no doubt eaten it already; so they locked the palisade gate, and went into the house.Emma’s adventure was the topic of the evening, and Emma herself was much pleased at having accomplished such a feat.“Well,” said Martin, “I never knew but one woman who faced a wolf except Miss Emma.”“And who was that, Martin?” said Mrs Campbell.“It was a wife of one of our farmers, ma’am; she was at the outhouse doing something, when she perceived a wolf enter the cottage-door, where there was nobody except the baby in the cradle. She ran back and found the wolf just lifting the infant out of the cradle by its clothes. The animal looked at her with his eyes flashing; but having its mouth full, it did not choose to drop the baby, and spring at her; all it wanted was to get clear off with its prey. The woman had presence of mind enough to take down her husband’s rifle and point it to the wolf, but she was so fearful of hurting the child, that she did not put the muzzle to its head, but to its shoulder. She fired just as the wolf was making off, and the animal fell, and could not get on its feet again, and it then dropped the child out of its mouth to attack the mother. The woman caught the child up, but the wolf gave her a severe bite on the arm, and broke the bone near the wrist. A wolf has a wonderful strong jaw, ma’am. However, the baby was saved, and neighbours came and despatched the animal.”“What a fearful position for a mother to be in!” exclaimed Mrs Campbell.“Where did that happen?”“On the White Mountains, ma’am,” replied Martin. “Malachi Bone told me the story; he was born there.”“Then he is an American.”“Well, ma’am, he is an American because he was born in this country, but it was English when he was born, so he calls himself an Englishman.”“I understand,” replied Mrs Campbell, “he was born before the colonies obtained their independence.”“Yes, ma’am, long before; there’s no saying how old he is. When I was quite a child, I recollect he was then reckoned an old man; indeed, the name the Indians gaveto him proves it. He then was called the ‘Grey Badger.’”“But is he so very old, do you really think, Martin?”“I think he has seen more than sixty snows, ma’am; but not many more; the fact is, his hair was grey before he was twenty years old; he told me so himself, and that’s one reason why the Indians are so fearful of him. They have it from their fathers that the Grey Badger was a great hunter, as Malachi was more than forty years ago; so they imagine as his hair was grey then, he must have been a very old man at that time back, and so to them he appears to live for ever, and they consider him as charmed, and to use their phrase ‘greatmedicine.’ I’ve heard some Indians declare that Malachi has seen one hundred and fifty winters, and they really believe it. I never contradicted them, as you may imagine.”“Does he live comfortably?”“Yes, ma’am, he does; his squaw knows what he wants, and does what she is bid. She is very fond of the old man, and looks upon him, as he really is to her, as a father. His lodge is always full of meat, and he has plenty of skins. He don’t drink spirits, and if he has tobacco for smoking, and powder and ball, what else can he want?”“Happy are they whose wants are so few,” observed Mr Campbell. “A man in whatever position in life, if he is content, is certain to be happy. How true are the words of the poet:—“Man wants but little here below,Nor wants that little long!”“Malachi Bone, is a happier man than hundreds in England who live in luxury. Let us profit, my dear children, by his example, and learn to be content with what Heaven has bestowed upon us. But it is time to retire. The wind has risen, and we shall have a blustering night. Henry, fetch me the book.”

The next morning, a little after daybreak, Martin and John made their appearance, leading the magnificent dog which Captain Sinclair had given to John. Like most large dogs, Oscar appeared to be very good-tempered, and treated the snarling and angry looks of the other dogs with perfect contempt.

“It is, indeed, a noble animal,” said Mr Campbell, patting its head.

“It’s a fine creature,” observed Malachi, “a wolf would stand no chance against him, and even a bear would have more on its hands than it could well manage, I expect; but, come here, boy,” said the old hunter to John, leading the way outside of the door.

“You’d better leave the dog, John,” said Malachi, “the crittur will be of use here, but no good to us.”

John made no reply, and the hunter continued, “I say it will be of use here, for the girls might meet with another wolf, or the house might be attacked; but good hunters don’t want dogs. Is it to watch for us, and give us notice of danger? Why that’s our duty, and we must trust to ourselves, and not to an animal. Is it to hunt for us? Why no dog can take a deer so well as we can with our rifles; a dog may discover us when we wish to be hidden; a dog’s track will mark us out when we would wish our track to be doubted. The animal will be of no utility ever to us, John, and may do us harm, ’specially now the snow’s on the ground. In the summer-time, you can take him and teach him how to behave as a hunter’s dog should behave; but we had better leave him now, start at once.”

John nodded his head in assent, and then went indoors.

“Good-bye,” said John, going up to his mother and cousins; “I shall not take the dog.”

“Won’t take the dog! well, that’s very kind of you, John,” said Mary, “for we were longing to have him to protect us.”

John shouldered his rifle, made a sign to Strawberry-Plant, who rose, and looking kindly at Mrs Campbell and the girls, without speaking, followed John out of the hut. Malachi certainly was not very polite, for he walked off, in company with John and the squaw, without taking the trouble to say “Good-bye.” It must, however, be observed that he was in conversation with Martin, who accompanied them on the way.

The winter had now become very severe. The thermometer was twenty degrees below freezing point, and the cold was so intense, that every precaution was taken against it. More than once Percival, whose business it was to bring in the firewood, was frost-bitten, but as Mrs Campbell was very watchful, the remedy of cold snow was always successfully applied. The howling of the wolves continued every night, but they were now used to it, and the only effect was, when one came more than usually close to the house, to make Oscar raise his head, growl, listen awhile, and then lie down to sleep again. Oscar became very fond of the girls, and was their invariable companion whenever they left the house.

Alfred, Martin, and Henry went out almost daily on hunting excursions; indeed, as there were no crops in the barn, they had little else to do. Mr Campbell remained at home with his wife and nieces; occasionally, but not very often, Percival accompanied the hunters; of Malachi and John they saw but little; John returned about every ten days, but although he adhered to his promise, his anxiety to go back to Malachi was so very apparent, and he was so restless, that Mrs Campbell rather wished him to be away, than remain at home so much against his will.

Thus passed away the time till the year closed in; confined as they were by the severity of the weather, and having little or nothing to do, the winter appeared longer and more tedious than it would have done if they had been settled longer, and had the crops to occupy their attention; for it is in the winter that the Canadian farmer gets through all his thrashing and other work connected with his farm, preparatory for the coming spring. This being their first winter, they had, of course, no crops gathered in, and were, therefore, in want of employment. Mrs Campbell and her nieces worked and read, and employed themselves in every way that they could, but constantly shut up within doors, they could not help feeling the monotony andennuiof their situation. The young men found occupation and amusement in the chase; they brought in a variety of animals and skins, and the evenings were generally devoted to a narration of what occurred in the day during their hunting excursions, but even these histories of the chase were at last heard with indifference. It was the same theme, only with variations, over and over again, and there was no longer much excitement in listening.

“I wonder when John will come back again,” observed Emma to her sister, as they were sitting at work.

“Why he only left two days ago, so we must not expect him for some time.”

“I know that. I wonder if Oscar would kill a wolf, I should like to take him out and try.”

“I thought you had had enough of wolves already, Emma,” replied Mary.

“Yes, well, that old Malachi will never bring us any more news about the Indians,” continued Emma, yawning.

“Why I do not think that any news about them is likely to be pleasant news, Emma, and therefore why should you wish it.”

“Why, my dear Mary, because I want some news; I want something to excite me, I feel so dull. It’s nothing but stitch, stitch, all day, and I am tired of always doing the same thing. What a horrid thing a Canadian winter is, and not one-half over yet.”

“It is very dull and monotonous, my dear Emma, I admit, and if we had more variety of employment, we should find it more agreeable, but we ought to feel grateful that we have a good house over our heads, and more security than we anticipated.”

“Almost too much security, Mary; I begin to feel that I could welcome an Indian even in his war-paint, just by way of a little change.”

“I think you would soon repent of your wish, if it were gratified.”

“Very likely, but I can’t help wishing it now. When will they come home? What o’clock is it? I wonder what they’ll bring, the old story I suppose, a buck; I’m sick of venison.”

“Indeed, Emma, you are wrong to feel such discontent and weariness.”

“Perhaps I am, but I have not walked a hundred yards for nearly one hundred days, and that will give one the blues, as they call them, and I do nothing but yawn, yawn, yawn, for want of air and exercise. Uncle won’t let us move on account of that horrid wolf. I wonder how Captain Sinclair is getting on at the fort, and whether he is as dull as we are.”

To do Emma justice, it was seldom that she indulged herself in such lamentings, but the tedium was more than her high flow of spirits could well bear. Mrs Campbell made a point of arranging the household, which gave her occupation, and Mary from natural disposition did not feel the confinement as much as Emma did; whenever, therefore, she did shew symptoms of restlessness or was tempted to utter a complaint, they reasoned with and soothed, but never reproached her.

The day after this conversation, Emma, to amuse herself, took a rifle and vent out with Percival. She fired several shots at a mark, and by degrees acquired some dexterity; gradually she became fond of the exercise, and not a day passed that she and Percival did not practise for an hour or two, until at last Emma could fire with great precision. Practice and a knowledge of the perfect use of your weapon gives confidence, and this Emma did at last acquire. She challenged Alfred and Henry to fire at the bull’s-eye with her, and whether by their gallantry or her superior dexterity, she was declared victor. Mr and Mrs Campbell smiled when Emma came in and narrated her success, and felt glad that she had found something which afforded her amusement.

It happened that one evening the hunters were very late; it was a clear moonlight night, but at eight o’clock they had not made their appearance; Percival had opened the door to go out for some firewood which had been piled within the palisades, and as it was later than the usual hour for locking the palisade gates, Mr Campbell had directed him so to do. Emma, attracted by the beauty of the night, was at the door of the house, when the howl of a wolf was heard close to them; the dogs, accustomed to it, merely sprang on their feet, but did not leave the kitchen fire; Emma went out, and looked through the palisades to see if she could perceive the animal, and little Trim, the terrier, followed her. Now Trim was so small, that he could creep between the palisades, and as soon as he was close to them, perceiving the wolf, the courageous little animal squeezed through them and flew towards it, barking as loud as he could. Emma immediately ran in, took down her rifle and went out again, as she knew that poor Trim would soon be devoured. The supposition was correct, the wolf instead of retreating closed with the little dog and seized it. Emma, who could now plainly perceive the animal, which was about forty yards from her, took aim and fired, just as poor Trim gave a loud yelp. Her aim was good, and the wolf and dog lay side by side. Mr and Mrs Campbell, and Mary, hearing the report of the rifle, ran out, and found Percival and Emma at the palisades behind the house.

“I have killed him, aunt,” said Emma, “but I fear he has killed poor little Trim; do let us go out and see.”

“No, no, my dear Emma, that must not be; your cousins will be home soon, and then we shall know how the case stands; but the risk is too great.”

“Here they come,” said Percival, “as fast as they can run.”

The hunters were soon at the palisade door and admitted; they had no game with them. Emma jeered them for coming back empty-handed.

“No, no, my little cousin,” replied Alfred, “we heard the report of a rifle, and we threw down our game, that we might sooner come to your assistance if you required it. What was the matter?”

“Only that I have killed a wolf, and am not allowed to bring in my trophy,” replied Emma. “Come, Alfred, I may go with you and Martin.”

They went to the spot, and found the wolf was dead, and poor Trim dead also by his side. They took in the body of the little dog, and left the wolf till the morning, when Martin said he would skin it for Miss Emma.

“And I’ll make a footstool of it,” said Emma; “that shall be my revenge for the fright I had from the other wolf. Come, Oscar, good dog; you and I will go wolf-hunting. Dear me, who would have thought that I should have ever killed a wolf—poor little Trim!”

Martin said it would be useless to return for the venison, as the wolves had no doubt eaten it already; so they locked the palisade gate, and went into the house.

Emma’s adventure was the topic of the evening, and Emma herself was much pleased at having accomplished such a feat.

“Well,” said Martin, “I never knew but one woman who faced a wolf except Miss Emma.”

“And who was that, Martin?” said Mrs Campbell.

“It was a wife of one of our farmers, ma’am; she was at the outhouse doing something, when she perceived a wolf enter the cottage-door, where there was nobody except the baby in the cradle. She ran back and found the wolf just lifting the infant out of the cradle by its clothes. The animal looked at her with his eyes flashing; but having its mouth full, it did not choose to drop the baby, and spring at her; all it wanted was to get clear off with its prey. The woman had presence of mind enough to take down her husband’s rifle and point it to the wolf, but she was so fearful of hurting the child, that she did not put the muzzle to its head, but to its shoulder. She fired just as the wolf was making off, and the animal fell, and could not get on its feet again, and it then dropped the child out of its mouth to attack the mother. The woman caught the child up, but the wolf gave her a severe bite on the arm, and broke the bone near the wrist. A wolf has a wonderful strong jaw, ma’am. However, the baby was saved, and neighbours came and despatched the animal.”

“What a fearful position for a mother to be in!” exclaimed Mrs Campbell.

“Where did that happen?”

“On the White Mountains, ma’am,” replied Martin. “Malachi Bone told me the story; he was born there.”

“Then he is an American.”

“Well, ma’am, he is an American because he was born in this country, but it was English when he was born, so he calls himself an Englishman.”

“I understand,” replied Mrs Campbell, “he was born before the colonies obtained their independence.”

“Yes, ma’am, long before; there’s no saying how old he is. When I was quite a child, I recollect he was then reckoned an old man; indeed, the name the Indians gaveto him proves it. He then was called the ‘Grey Badger.’”

“But is he so very old, do you really think, Martin?”

“I think he has seen more than sixty snows, ma’am; but not many more; the fact is, his hair was grey before he was twenty years old; he told me so himself, and that’s one reason why the Indians are so fearful of him. They have it from their fathers that the Grey Badger was a great hunter, as Malachi was more than forty years ago; so they imagine as his hair was grey then, he must have been a very old man at that time back, and so to them he appears to live for ever, and they consider him as charmed, and to use their phrase ‘greatmedicine.’ I’ve heard some Indians declare that Malachi has seen one hundred and fifty winters, and they really believe it. I never contradicted them, as you may imagine.”

“Does he live comfortably?”

“Yes, ma’am, he does; his squaw knows what he wants, and does what she is bid. She is very fond of the old man, and looks upon him, as he really is to her, as a father. His lodge is always full of meat, and he has plenty of skins. He don’t drink spirits, and if he has tobacco for smoking, and powder and ball, what else can he want?”

“Happy are they whose wants are so few,” observed Mr Campbell. “A man in whatever position in life, if he is content, is certain to be happy. How true are the words of the poet:—

“Man wants but little here below,Nor wants that little long!”

“Man wants but little here below,Nor wants that little long!”

“Malachi Bone, is a happier man than hundreds in England who live in luxury. Let us profit, my dear children, by his example, and learn to be content with what Heaven has bestowed upon us. But it is time to retire. The wind has risen, and we shall have a blustering night. Henry, fetch me the book.”

Chapter Twenty.The Squaw Saved.Alfred and Martin brought in the wolf which Emma had killed, but it was frozen so hard, that they could not skin it. Poor little Trim was also carried in, but the ground was too hard frozen for them to bury the body, so they put it into the snow until the spring, when a thaw would take place. As for the wolf, they said nothing about it, but they remained up when the rest of the family retired, and after the wolf had been some time before the fire, they were able to take off the skin.On the following morning, when the hunters went out, they were particularly desired to shoot a wild turkey if they could, as the next day was Christmas-day.“Let us take Oscar with us,” said Alfred; “he is very swift, and may run them down; we never can get up with them in our snow-shoes.”“I wonder whether they will get a turkey,” said Emma, after the hunting party had left.“I think it will be difficult,” said Mrs Campbell; “but they will try all they can.”“I hope they will; for Christmas-day without a turkey will be very un-English.”“We are not in England, my dear Emma,” said Mr Campbell; “and wild turkeys are not to be ordered from the poulterer’s.”“I know that we are not in England, my dear uncle, and I feel it too. How was the day before every Christmas-day spent at Wexton Hall! What piles of warm blankets, what a quantity of duffel cloaks, flannels, and worsted stockings were we all so busy and so happy in preparing and sorting to give away on the following morning, that all within miles of us should be warmly clothed on that day. And, then, the housekeeper’s room with all the joints of meat, and flour and plums and suet, in proportion to the number of each family, all laid out and ticketed ready for distribution. And then the party invited to the servants’ hall, and the great dinner, and the new clothing for the school-girls, and the church so gay with their new dresses in the aisles, and the holly and the mistletoe. I know we are not in England, my dear uncle, and that you have lost one of your greatest pleasures—that of doing good, and making all happy around you.”“Well, my dear Emma, if I have lost the pleasure of doing good, it is the will of Heaven that it should be so, and we ought to be thankful that, if not dispensing charity, at all events, we are not the objects of charity to others; that we are independent, and earning an honest livelihood. People may be very happy, and feel the most devout gratitude on the anniversary of so great a mercy, without having a turkey for dinner.”“I was not in earnest about the turkey, my dear uncle. It was the association of ideas connected by long habit, which made me think of our Christmas times at Wexton Hall; but, indeed, my dear uncle, if there was regret, it was not for myself so much as for you,” replied Emma, with tears in her eyes.“Perhaps I spoke rather too severely, my dearest Emma,” said Mr Campbell; “but I did not like to hear such a solemn day spoken of as if it were commemorated merely by the eating of certain food.”“It was foolish of me,” replied Emma, “and it was said thoughtlessly.”Emma went up to Mr Campbell and kissed him, and Mr Campbell said, “Well, I hope there will be a turkey, since you wish for one.”The hunters did not return till late, and when they appeared in sight, Percival, who had descried them, came in and said that they were very well loaded, and were bringing in their game slung upon a pole.Mary and Emma went out of the door to meet their cousins. That there was a heavy load carried on a pole between Martin and Alfred was certain, but they could not distinguish what it consisted of. As the party arrived at the palisade gates, however, they discovered that it was not game, but a human being, who was carried on a sort of litter made of boughs.“What is it, Alfred!” said Mary.“Wait till I recover my breath,” said Alfred, as he reached the door, “or ask Henry, for I’m quite knocked up.”Henry then went with his cousins into the house, and explained to them that as they were in pursuit of the wild turkeys, Oscar had stopped suddenly and commenced baying; that they went up to the dog, and, in a bush, they found a poor Indian woman nearly frozen to death, and with a dislocation of the ankle, so severe that her leg was terribly swelled, and she could not move. Martin had spoken to her in the Indian tongue, and she was so exhausted with cold and hunger, that she could just tell him that she belonged to a small party of Indians who had been some days out hunting, and a long way from where they had built their winter lodges; that she had fallen with the weight which she had to carry, and that her leg was so bad, she could not go on with them, that they had taken her burden, and left her to follow them when she could.“Yes,” continued Alfred; “left the poor creature without food, to perish in the snow. One day more, and it would have been all over with her. It is wonderful how she can have lived through the two last nights as she was. But Martin says the Indians always do leave a woman to perish in this way, or recover as she can, if she happens to meet with an accident.”“At all events, let us bring her in at once,” said Mr Campbell. “I will first see if my surgical assistance can be of use, and after that we will do what we can for her. How far from this did you find her?”“About eight miles,” replied Henry; “and Alfred has carried her almost the whole way; Martin and I have relieved each other, except once, when I took Alfred’s place.”“And so you perceive, Emma, instead of a wild turkey, I have brought an Indian squaw,” said Alfred.“I love you better for your kindness, Alfred,” replied Emma, “than if you had brought me a waggon-load of turkeys.”In the meantime, Martin and Henry brought in the poor Indian, and laid her down on the floor at some distance from the fire, for though she was nearly dead with the cold, too sudden an exposure to heat would have been almost equally fatal. Mr Campbell examined her ankle, and with a little assistance reduced the dislocation. He then bound up her leg and bathed it with warm vinegar, as a first application. Mrs Campbell and the two girls chafed the poor creature’s limbs till the circulation was a little restored, and then they gave her something warm to drink. It was proposed by Mrs Campbell that they should make up a bed for her on the floor of the kitchen. This was done in a corner near to the fireplace, and in about an hour their patient fell into a sound sleep.“It is lucky for her that she did not fall into that sleep before we found her,” said Martin; “she would never have awoke again.”“Most certainly not,” replied Mr Campbell. “Have you any idea what tribe she is of, Martin?”“Yes, sir; she is one of the Chippeways; there are many divisions of them, but I will find out when she wakes again to which she belongs; she was too much exhausted when we found her, to say much.”“It appears very inhuman leaving her to perish in that way,” observed Mrs Campbell.“Well, ma’am, so it does; but necessity has no law. The Indians could not, if they would, have carried her, perhaps, one hundred miles. It would have, probably, been the occasion of more deaths, for the cold is too great now for sleeping out at nights for any time, although they do contrive with the help of a large fire to stay out sometimes.”“Self-preservation is the first law of nature, certainly,” observed Mr Campbell; “but, if I recollect right, the savages do not value the life of a woman very highly.”“That’s a fact, sir,” replied Martin; “not much more, I reckon, than you would a beast of burden.”“It is always the case among savage nations,” observed Mr Campbell; “the first mark of civilisation is the treatment of the other sex, and in proportion as civilisation increases, so are the women protected and well used. But your supper is ready, my children, and I think after your fatigue and fasting you must require it.”“I am almost too tired to eat,” observed Alfred. “I shall infinitely more enjoy a good sleep under my bear skins. At the same time I’ll try what I can do,” continued he, laughing, and taking his seat at table.Notwithstanding Alfred’s observation, he contrived to make a very hearty supper, and Emma laughed at his appetite after his professing that he had so little inclination to eat.“I said I was too tired to eat, Emma, and so I felt at the time; but as I became more refreshed my appetite returned,” replied Alfred, laughing, “and notwithstanding your jeering me, I mean to eat some more.”“How long has John been away?” said Mr Campbell.“Now nearly a fortnight,” observed Mrs Campbell; “he promised to come here on Christmas-day. I suppose we shall see him to-morrow morning.”“Yes, ma’am; and old Bone will come with him, I dare say. He said as much to me when he was going away the last time. He observed that the boy could not bring the venison, and perhapshewould if he had any, for he knows that people like plenty of meat on Christmas-day.”“I wonder whether old Malachi is any way religious,” observed Mary. “Do you think he is, Martin?”“Yes, ma’am; I think he feels it, but does not shew it. I know from myself what are, probably, his feelings on the subject. When I have been away for weeks and sometimes for months, without seeing or speaking to anyone, all alone in the woods, I feel more religious than I do when at Quebec on my return, although I do go to church. Now old Malachi has, I think, a solemn reverence for the Divine Being, and strict notions of duty, so far as he understands it—but as he never goes to any town or mixes with any company, so the rites of religion, as I may call them, and the observances of the holy feasts, are lost to him, except as a sort of dream of former days, before he took to his hunter’s life. Indeed, he seldom knows what day or even what month it is. He knows the seasons as they come and go, and that’s all. One day is the same as another, and he cannot tell which is Sunday, for he is not able to keep a reckoning. Now, ma’am, when you desired Master John to be at home on the Friday fortnight because it was Christmas-day, I perceived old Malachi in deep thought: he was recalling to mind what Christmas-day was; if you had not mentioned it, the day would have passed away like any other; but you reminded him, and then it was that he said he would come if he could. I’m sure that now he knows it is Christmas-day, he intends to keep it as such.”“There is much truth in what Martin says,” observed Mr Campbell; “we require the seventh day in the week and other stated seasons of devotion to be regularly set apart, in order to keep us in mind of our duties and preserve the life of religion. In the woods, remote from communion with other Christians, these things are easily forgotten, and when once we have lost our calculation, it is not to be recovered. But come, Alfred, and Henry, and Martin must be very tired, and we had better all go to bed. I will sit up a little while to give some drink to my patient, if she wishes it. Good night, my children.”

Alfred and Martin brought in the wolf which Emma had killed, but it was frozen so hard, that they could not skin it. Poor little Trim was also carried in, but the ground was too hard frozen for them to bury the body, so they put it into the snow until the spring, when a thaw would take place. As for the wolf, they said nothing about it, but they remained up when the rest of the family retired, and after the wolf had been some time before the fire, they were able to take off the skin.

On the following morning, when the hunters went out, they were particularly desired to shoot a wild turkey if they could, as the next day was Christmas-day.

“Let us take Oscar with us,” said Alfred; “he is very swift, and may run them down; we never can get up with them in our snow-shoes.”

“I wonder whether they will get a turkey,” said Emma, after the hunting party had left.

“I think it will be difficult,” said Mrs Campbell; “but they will try all they can.”

“I hope they will; for Christmas-day without a turkey will be very un-English.”

“We are not in England, my dear Emma,” said Mr Campbell; “and wild turkeys are not to be ordered from the poulterer’s.”

“I know that we are not in England, my dear uncle, and I feel it too. How was the day before every Christmas-day spent at Wexton Hall! What piles of warm blankets, what a quantity of duffel cloaks, flannels, and worsted stockings were we all so busy and so happy in preparing and sorting to give away on the following morning, that all within miles of us should be warmly clothed on that day. And, then, the housekeeper’s room with all the joints of meat, and flour and plums and suet, in proportion to the number of each family, all laid out and ticketed ready for distribution. And then the party invited to the servants’ hall, and the great dinner, and the new clothing for the school-girls, and the church so gay with their new dresses in the aisles, and the holly and the mistletoe. I know we are not in England, my dear uncle, and that you have lost one of your greatest pleasures—that of doing good, and making all happy around you.”

“Well, my dear Emma, if I have lost the pleasure of doing good, it is the will of Heaven that it should be so, and we ought to be thankful that, if not dispensing charity, at all events, we are not the objects of charity to others; that we are independent, and earning an honest livelihood. People may be very happy, and feel the most devout gratitude on the anniversary of so great a mercy, without having a turkey for dinner.”

“I was not in earnest about the turkey, my dear uncle. It was the association of ideas connected by long habit, which made me think of our Christmas times at Wexton Hall; but, indeed, my dear uncle, if there was regret, it was not for myself so much as for you,” replied Emma, with tears in her eyes.

“Perhaps I spoke rather too severely, my dearest Emma,” said Mr Campbell; “but I did not like to hear such a solemn day spoken of as if it were commemorated merely by the eating of certain food.”

“It was foolish of me,” replied Emma, “and it was said thoughtlessly.”

Emma went up to Mr Campbell and kissed him, and Mr Campbell said, “Well, I hope there will be a turkey, since you wish for one.”

The hunters did not return till late, and when they appeared in sight, Percival, who had descried them, came in and said that they were very well loaded, and were bringing in their game slung upon a pole.

Mary and Emma went out of the door to meet their cousins. That there was a heavy load carried on a pole between Martin and Alfred was certain, but they could not distinguish what it consisted of. As the party arrived at the palisade gates, however, they discovered that it was not game, but a human being, who was carried on a sort of litter made of boughs.

“What is it, Alfred!” said Mary.

“Wait till I recover my breath,” said Alfred, as he reached the door, “or ask Henry, for I’m quite knocked up.”

Henry then went with his cousins into the house, and explained to them that as they were in pursuit of the wild turkeys, Oscar had stopped suddenly and commenced baying; that they went up to the dog, and, in a bush, they found a poor Indian woman nearly frozen to death, and with a dislocation of the ankle, so severe that her leg was terribly swelled, and she could not move. Martin had spoken to her in the Indian tongue, and she was so exhausted with cold and hunger, that she could just tell him that she belonged to a small party of Indians who had been some days out hunting, and a long way from where they had built their winter lodges; that she had fallen with the weight which she had to carry, and that her leg was so bad, she could not go on with them, that they had taken her burden, and left her to follow them when she could.

“Yes,” continued Alfred; “left the poor creature without food, to perish in the snow. One day more, and it would have been all over with her. It is wonderful how she can have lived through the two last nights as she was. But Martin says the Indians always do leave a woman to perish in this way, or recover as she can, if she happens to meet with an accident.”

“At all events, let us bring her in at once,” said Mr Campbell. “I will first see if my surgical assistance can be of use, and after that we will do what we can for her. How far from this did you find her?”

“About eight miles,” replied Henry; “and Alfred has carried her almost the whole way; Martin and I have relieved each other, except once, when I took Alfred’s place.”

“And so you perceive, Emma, instead of a wild turkey, I have brought an Indian squaw,” said Alfred.

“I love you better for your kindness, Alfred,” replied Emma, “than if you had brought me a waggon-load of turkeys.”

In the meantime, Martin and Henry brought in the poor Indian, and laid her down on the floor at some distance from the fire, for though she was nearly dead with the cold, too sudden an exposure to heat would have been almost equally fatal. Mr Campbell examined her ankle, and with a little assistance reduced the dislocation. He then bound up her leg and bathed it with warm vinegar, as a first application. Mrs Campbell and the two girls chafed the poor creature’s limbs till the circulation was a little restored, and then they gave her something warm to drink. It was proposed by Mrs Campbell that they should make up a bed for her on the floor of the kitchen. This was done in a corner near to the fireplace, and in about an hour their patient fell into a sound sleep.

“It is lucky for her that she did not fall into that sleep before we found her,” said Martin; “she would never have awoke again.”

“Most certainly not,” replied Mr Campbell. “Have you any idea what tribe she is of, Martin?”

“Yes, sir; she is one of the Chippeways; there are many divisions of them, but I will find out when she wakes again to which she belongs; she was too much exhausted when we found her, to say much.”

“It appears very inhuman leaving her to perish in that way,” observed Mrs Campbell.

“Well, ma’am, so it does; but necessity has no law. The Indians could not, if they would, have carried her, perhaps, one hundred miles. It would have, probably, been the occasion of more deaths, for the cold is too great now for sleeping out at nights for any time, although they do contrive with the help of a large fire to stay out sometimes.”

“Self-preservation is the first law of nature, certainly,” observed Mr Campbell; “but, if I recollect right, the savages do not value the life of a woman very highly.”

“That’s a fact, sir,” replied Martin; “not much more, I reckon, than you would a beast of burden.”

“It is always the case among savage nations,” observed Mr Campbell; “the first mark of civilisation is the treatment of the other sex, and in proportion as civilisation increases, so are the women protected and well used. But your supper is ready, my children, and I think after your fatigue and fasting you must require it.”

“I am almost too tired to eat,” observed Alfred. “I shall infinitely more enjoy a good sleep under my bear skins. At the same time I’ll try what I can do,” continued he, laughing, and taking his seat at table.

Notwithstanding Alfred’s observation, he contrived to make a very hearty supper, and Emma laughed at his appetite after his professing that he had so little inclination to eat.

“I said I was too tired to eat, Emma, and so I felt at the time; but as I became more refreshed my appetite returned,” replied Alfred, laughing, “and notwithstanding your jeering me, I mean to eat some more.”

“How long has John been away?” said Mr Campbell.

“Now nearly a fortnight,” observed Mrs Campbell; “he promised to come here on Christmas-day. I suppose we shall see him to-morrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am; and old Bone will come with him, I dare say. He said as much to me when he was going away the last time. He observed that the boy could not bring the venison, and perhapshewould if he had any, for he knows that people like plenty of meat on Christmas-day.”

“I wonder whether old Malachi is any way religious,” observed Mary. “Do you think he is, Martin?”

“Yes, ma’am; I think he feels it, but does not shew it. I know from myself what are, probably, his feelings on the subject. When I have been away for weeks and sometimes for months, without seeing or speaking to anyone, all alone in the woods, I feel more religious than I do when at Quebec on my return, although I do go to church. Now old Malachi has, I think, a solemn reverence for the Divine Being, and strict notions of duty, so far as he understands it—but as he never goes to any town or mixes with any company, so the rites of religion, as I may call them, and the observances of the holy feasts, are lost to him, except as a sort of dream of former days, before he took to his hunter’s life. Indeed, he seldom knows what day or even what month it is. He knows the seasons as they come and go, and that’s all. One day is the same as another, and he cannot tell which is Sunday, for he is not able to keep a reckoning. Now, ma’am, when you desired Master John to be at home on the Friday fortnight because it was Christmas-day, I perceived old Malachi in deep thought: he was recalling to mind what Christmas-day was; if you had not mentioned it, the day would have passed away like any other; but you reminded him, and then it was that he said he would come if he could. I’m sure that now he knows it is Christmas-day, he intends to keep it as such.”

“There is much truth in what Martin says,” observed Mr Campbell; “we require the seventh day in the week and other stated seasons of devotion to be regularly set apart, in order to keep us in mind of our duties and preserve the life of religion. In the woods, remote from communion with other Christians, these things are easily forgotten, and when once we have lost our calculation, it is not to be recovered. But come, Alfred, and Henry, and Martin must be very tired, and we had better all go to bed. I will sit up a little while to give some drink to my patient, if she wishes it. Good night, my children.”

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