Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Twenty Six.An unexpected meeting, and an unexpected deer-hunt—Arrival at the outpost—Disagreement with the natives—An enemy discovered, and a murder.Next morning they rose with the sun, and therefore also with the birds and beasts.A wide traverse of the lake now lay before them. This they crossed in about two hours, during which time they paddled unremittingly, as the sky looked rather lowering, and they were well aware of the danger of being caught in a storm in such an egg-shell craft as an Indian canoe.“We’ll put in here now, Mister Harry,” exclaimed Jacques, as the canoe entered the mouth of one of those small rivulets which are called in Scotlandburns, and in Americacreeks; “it’s like that your appetite is sharpened after a spell like that. Keep her head a little more to the left—straight for the p’int—so. It’s likely we’ll get some fish here if we set the net.”“I say, Jacques, is yon a cloud or a wreath of smoke above the trees in the creek?” inquired Harry, pointing with his paddle towards the object referred to.“It’s smoke, master; I’ve see’d it for some time, and mayhap we’ll find some Injins there who can give us news of the traders at Stoney Creek.”“And, pray, how far do you think we may now be from that place?” inquired Harry.“Forty miles, more or less.”As he spoke, the canoe entered the shallow water of the creek, and began to ascend the current of the stream, which at its mouth was so sluggish as to be scarcely perceptible to the eye. Not so, however, to the arms. The light bark, which, while floating on the lake, had glided buoyantly forward as if it were itself consenting to the motion, had now become apparently imbued with a spirit of contradiction, bounding convulsively forward at each stroke of the paddles, and perceptibly losing speed at each interval. Directing their course towards a flat rock on the left bank of the stream, they ran the prow out of the water and leaped ashore. As they did so, the unexpected figure of a man issued from the bushes and sauntered towards the spot. Harry and Hamilton advanced to meet him, while Jacques remained to unload the canoe. The stranger was habited in the usual dress of a hunter, and carried a fowling-piece over his right shoulder. In general appearance he looked like an Indian; but though the face was burned by exposure to a hue that nearly equalled the red skins of the natives, a strong dash of pink in it, and the mass of fair hair which encircled it, proved that, as Harry paradoxically expressed it, its owner was awhiteman. He was young, considerably above the middle height, and apparently athletic. His address and language on approaching the young men put the question of his being awhiteman beyond a doubt.“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he began. “I presume that you are the party we have been expecting for some time past to reinforce our staff at Stoney Creek. Is it not so?”To this query young Somerville, who stood in advance of his friend, made no reply, but stepping hastily forward, laid a hand on each of the stranger’s shoulders, and gazed earnestly into his face, exclaiming as he did so—“Do my eyes deceive me? Is Charley Kennedy before me—or his ghost?”“What! eh,” exclaimed the individual thus addressed, returning Harry’s gripe and stare with interest, “is it possible? No—it cannot—Harry Somerville, my old, dear, unexpected friend!”—and pouring out broken sentences, abrupt ejaculations, and incoherent questions, to which neither vouchsafed replies, the two friends gazed at and walked round each other, shook hands, partially embraced, and committed sundry other extravagances, utterly unconscious of, or indifferent to, the fact that Hamilton was gazing at them, open-mouthed, in a species of stupor, and that Jacques was standing by, regarding them with a look of mingled amusement and satisfaction. The discovery of this latter personage was a source of renewed delight and astonishment to Charley, who was so much upset by the commotion of his spirits, in consequence of this, so to speak, double shot, that he became rambling and incoherent in his speech during the remainder of that day, and gave vent to frequent and sudden bursts of smothered enthusiasm, in which it would appear, from the occasional muttering of the names of Redfeather and Jacques, that he not only felicitated himself on his own good fortune, but also anticipated renewed pleasure in witnessing the joyful meeting of these two worthies ere long. In fact, this meeting did take place on the following day, when Redfeather, returning from a successful hunt, with part of a deer on his shoulders, entered Charley’s tent, in which the travellers had spent the previous day and night, and discovered the guide gravely discussing a venison steak before the fire.It would be vain to attempt a description of all that the reunited friends said and did during the first twenty-four hours after their meeting: how they talked of old times, as they lay extended round the fire inside of Charley’s tent, and recounted their adventures by flood and field since they last met; how they sometimes diverged into questions of speculative philosophy (as conversationswilloften diverge, whether we wish it or not), and broke short off to make sudden inquiries after old friends; how this naturally led them to talk of new friends and new scenes, until they began to forecast their eyes a little into the future; and how, on feeling that this was an uncongenial theme under present circumstances, they reverted again to the past, and by a peculiar train of conversation—to retrace which were utterly impossible—they invariably arrived atoldtimes again. Having in course of the evening pretty well exhausted their powers, both mental and physical, they went to sleep on it, and resumed the colloquialmélangein the morning.“And now tell me, Charley, what you are doing in this uninhabited part of the world, so far from Stoney Creek,” said Harry Somerville, as they assembled round the fire to breakfast.“That is soon explained,” replied Charley. “My good friend and superior, Mr Whyte, having got himself comfortably housed at Stoney Creek, thought it advisable to establish a sort of half outpost, half fishing-station, about twenty miles below the new fort, and believing (very justly) that my talents lay a good deal in the way of fishing and shooting, sent me to superintend it during the summer months. I am, therefore, at present monarch of that notable establishment, which is not yet dignified with a name. Hearing that there were plenty of deer about twenty miles below my palace, I resolved the other day to gratify my love of sport, and at the same time procure some venison for Stoney Creek; accordingly, I took Redfeather with me, and—here I am.”“Very good,” said Harry; “and can you give us the least idea of what they are going to do with my friend Hamilton and me when they get us?”“Can’t say. One of you, at any rate, will be kept at the creek, to assist Mr Whyte; the other may, perhaps, be appointed to relieve me at the fishing for a time, whileIam sent off to push the trade in other quarters. But I’m only guessing. I don’t know anything definitely, for Mr Whyte is by no means communicative.”“An’ please, master,” put in Jacques, “when do you mean to let us off from this place? I guess the bourgeois won’t be over pleased if we waste time here.”“We’ll start this forenoon, Jacques. I and Redfeather shall go along with you, as I intended to take a run up to the creek about this time at any rate.—Have you the skins and dried meat packed, Redfeather?”To this the Indian replied in the affirmative, and the others having finished breakfast, the whole party rose to prepare for departure, and set about loading their canoes forthwith. An hour later they were again cleaving the waters of the lake, with this difference in arrangement, that Jacques was transferred to Redfeather’s canoe, while Charley Kennedy took his place in the stern of that occupied by Harry and Hamilton.The establishment of which our friend Charley pronounced himself absolute monarch, and at which they arrived in the course of the same afternoon, consisted of two small log houses or huts, constructed in the rudest fashion, and without any attempt whatever at architectural embellishment. It was pleasantly situated on a small bay, whose northern extremity was sheltered from the arctic blast by a gentle rising ground clothed with wood. A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men in a canoe completed the picture. The said two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population.“Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley,” remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station.“Very,” was the laconic reply.They had scarcely passed the place above a mile, when a canoe, containing a solitary Indian, was observed to shoot out from the shore and paddle hastily towards them. From this man they learned that a herd of deer was passing down towards the lake, and would be on its banks in a few minutes. He had been waiting their arrival when the canoes came in sight, and induced him to hurry out so as to give them warning. Having no time to lose, the whole party now paddled swiftly for the shore, and reached it just a few minutes before the branching antlers of the deer came in sight above the low bushes that skirted the wood. Harry Somerville embarked in the bow of the strange Indian’s canoe, so as to lighten the other, and enable all parties to have a fair chance. After snuffing the breeze for a few seconds, the foremost animal took the water, and commenced swimming towards the opposite shore of the lake, which at this particular spot was narrow. It was followed by seven others. After sufficient time was permitted to elapse to render their being cut off, in an attempt to return, quite certain, the three canoes darted from the shelter of the overhanging bushes, and sprang lightly over the water in pursuit.“Don’t hurry, and strike sure,” cried Jacques to his young friends, as they came up with the terrified deer that now swam for their lives.“Ay, ay,” was the reply.In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian’s spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal’s back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head sank slowly, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, dispatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives.“Ha!” exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, “that’s a good stock o’ meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well.”“It was much wanted, Jacques: we’ve a good many mouths to feed, besidestreatingthe Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of the hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him.”“True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the redskin by rights, that’s sartin.”After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek.“Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said Mr Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; “I’ve been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you’ve come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have dispatches, of course. Ah! that’s right,” (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), “that’s right. I must peruse these at once.—Mr Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half an hour.” So saying, Mr Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence—not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc.“Now it strikes me,” remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley’s bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner—“it strikes me that ifthat’shis usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn’t anticipate.”“Don’t judge from first impressions; they’re often deceptive,” spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds—an act which afterwards cost him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears.“Right,” exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.—“You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He’s a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he’ll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience.”“Which means to saythreethings,” replied the implacable Harry: “first, that for all his good-heartedness atbottom, he never shows any of it at top, and is therefore like unto truth, which is said to lie at the bottom of a well—so deep, in fact, that it is never got out, and so is of use to nobody; secondly, that he is possessed of that amount of affection which is common to all mankind (to a great extent even to brutes), which prompts a man to be reasonably attentive to his friends; and thirdly, that you, Master Kennedy, enjoy the peculiar privilege of being the friend of a two-legged polar bear!”“Were I not certain that you jest,” retorted Kennedy, “I would compel you to apologise to me for insulting my friend, you rascal! But see, here’s the cook coming to tell us that dinner waits. If you don’t wish to see the teeth of the polar bear, I’d advise you to be smart.”Thus admonished, Harry sprang up, plunged his hands and face in the basin and dried them, broke Charley’s comb in attempting to pass it hastily through his hair, used his fingers savagely as a substitute, and overtook his companions just as they entered the messroom.The establishment of Stoney Creek was comprised within two acres of ground. It consisted of eight or nine houses—three of which, however, alone met the eye on approaching by the lake. The “great” house, as it was termed, on account of its relative proportion to the other buildings, was a small edifice, built substantially but roughly of unsquared logs, partially whitewashed, roofed with shingles, and boasting six small windows in front, with a large door between them. On its east side, and at right angles to it, was a similar edifice, but smaller, having two doors instead of one, and four windows instead of six. This was the trading-shop and provision-store. Opposite to this was a twin building which contained the furs and a variety of miscellaneous stores. Thus were formed three sides of a square, from the centre of which rose a tall flagstaff. The buildings behind those just described were smaller and insignificant—the principal one being the house appropriated to the men; the others were mere sheds and workshops. Luxuriant forests ascended the slopes that rose behind and encircled this oasis on all sides, excepting in front, where the clear waters of the lake sparkled like a blue mirror.On the margin of this lake the new arrivals, left to enjoy themselves as they best might for a day or two, sauntered about and chatted to their hearts’ content of things past, present, and future.During these wanderings, Harry confessed that his opinion of Mr Whyte had somewhat changed: that he believed a good deal of the first bad impression was attributable to his cool, not to say impolite, reception of them; and that he thought things would go on much better with the Indians if he would only try to let some of his good qualities be seen through his exterior.An expression of sadness passed over Charley’s face as his friend said this.“You are right in the last particular,” he said, with a sigh. “Mr Whyte is so rough and overbearing that the Indians are beginning to dislike him. Some of the more clear-sighted among them see that a good deal of this lies in mere manner, and have penetration enough to observe that in all his dealings with them he is straightforward and liberal; but there are a set of them who either don’t see this, or are so indignant at the rough speeches he often makes, and the rough treatment he sometimes threatens, that they won’t forgive him, but seem to be nursing their wrath. I sometimes wish he was sent to a district where the Indians and traders are, from habitual intercourse, more accustomed to each other’s ways, and so less likely to quarrel.”“Have the Indians, then, used any open threats?” asked Harry.“No, not exactly; but through an old man of the tribe, who is well affected towards us, I have learned that there is a party among them who seem bent on mischief.”“Then we may expect a row some day or other. That’s pleasant!—What think you, Hammy?” said Harry, turning to his friend.“I think that it would be anything but pleasant,” he replied; “and I sincerely hope that we shall not have occasion for a row.”“You’re not afraid of a fight, are you, Hamilton?” asked Charley.The peculiarly bland smile with which Hamilton usually received any remark that savoured of banter overspread his features as Charley spoke, but he merely replied,—“No, Charley, I’m not afraid.”“Do you know any of the Indians who are so anxious to vent their spleen on our worthy bourgeois?” asked Harry, as he seated himself on a rocky eminence commanding a view of the richly-wooded slopes, dotted with huge masses of rock that had fallen from the beetling cliffs behind the creek.“Yes, I do,” replied Charley; “and, by the way, one of them—the ringleader—is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name. You’ve heard of an Indian called Misconna?”“What!” exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; “you don’t mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the shores of Lake Winnipeg—the man who killed poor Jacques’s young wife?”“The same,” replied Charley.“And does Jacques know he is here?”“He does; but Jacques is a strange, unaccountable mortal. You remember that in the struggle described by Redfeather the trapper and Misconna had neither of them seen each other, Redfeather having felled the latter before the former reached the scene of action—a scene which, he has since told me, he witnessed at a distance, while rushing to the rescue of his wife—so that Misconna is utterly ignorant of the fact that the husband of his victim is now so near him; indeed, he does not know that she had a husband at all. On the other hand, although Jacques is aware that his bitterest enemy is within rifle-range of him at this moment, he does not know him by sight; and this morning he came to me, begging that I would send Misconna on some expedition or other, just to keep him out of his way.”“And do you intend to do so?”“I shall do my best,” replied Charley; “but I cannot get him out of the way till to-morrow, as there is to be a gathering of Indians in the hall this very day, to have a palaver with Mr Whyte about their grievances, and Misconna wouldn’t miss that for a trifle. But Jacques won’t be likely to recognise him among so many; and if he does, I rely with confidence on his powers of restraint and forbearance.—By the way,” he continued, glancing upwards, “it is past noon, and the Indians will have begun to assemble; so we had better hasten back, as we shall be expected to help in keeping order.”So saying, he rose, and the young men returned to the fort. On reaching it they found the hall crowded with natives, who sat cross-legged around the walls, or stood in groups conversing in low tones, and to judge from the expression of their dark eyes and lowering brows, they were in extremely bad humour. They became silent and more respectful, however, in their demeanour when the young men entered the apartment and walked up to the fireplace, in which a small fire of wood burned on the hearth, more as a convenient means of rekindling the pipes of the Indians when they went out than as a means of heating the place. Jacques and Redfeather stood leaning against the wall near to it, engaged in a whispered conversation. Glancing round as he entered, Charley observed Misconna sitting a little apart by himself, and apparently buried in deep thought. He had scarcely perceived him, and nodded to several of his particular friends among the crowd, when a side-door opened, and Mr Whyte, with an angry expression on his countenance, strode up to the fireplace, planted himself before it, with his legs apart and his hands behind him, while he silently surveyed the group.“So,” he began, “you have asked to speak with me; well, here I am. What have you to say?”Mr Whyte addressed the Indians in their native tongue, having, during a long residence in the country, learned to speak it as fluently as English.For some moments there was silence. Then an old chief—the same who had officiated at the feast described in a former chapter—rose, and standing forth into the middle of the room, made a long and grave oration, in which, besides a great deal that was bombastic, much that was irrelevant, and more that was utterly fabulous and nonsensical, he recounted the sorrows of himself and his tribe, concluding with a request that the great chief would take these things into consideration—the principal “things” being that they did not get anything in the shape of gratuities, while it was notorious that the Indians in other districts did, and that they did not get enough of goods in advance, on credit of their future hunts.Mr Whyte heard the old man to the end in silence; then, without altering his position, he looked round on the assembly with a frown, and said, “Now listen to me; I am a man of few words. I have told you over and over again, and now repeat it, that you shall get no gratuities until you prove yourselves worthy of them. I shall not increase your advances by so much as half an inch of tobacco till your last year’s debts are scored off, and you begin to show more activity in hunting and less disposition to grumble. Hitherto you have not brought in anything like the quantity of furs that the capabilities of the country led me to expect. You are lazy. Until you become better hunters you shall have no redress from me.”As he finished, Mr Whyte made a step towards the door by which he had entered, but was arrested by another chief, who requested to be heard. Resuming his place and attitude, Mr Whyte listened with an expression of dogged determination, while guttural grunts of unequivocal dissatisfaction issued from the throats of several of the malcontents. The Indian proceeded to repeat a few of the remarks made by his predecessor, but more concisely, and wound up by explaining that the failure in the hunts of the previous year was owing to the will of the Great Manito, and not by any means on account of the supposed laziness of himself or his tribe.“That is false,” said Mr Whyte; “you know it is not true.”As this was said, a murmur of anger ran round the apartment, which was interrupted by Misconna, who, apparently unable to restrain his passion, sprang into the middle of the room, and confronting Mr Whyte, made a short and pithy speech, accompanied by violent gesticulation, in which he insinuated that if redress was not granted the white men would bitterly repent it.During his speech the Indians had risen to their feet and drawn closer together, while Jacques and the three young men drew near their superior. Redfeather remained apart, motionless, and with his eyes fixed on the ground.“And, pray, what dog—what miserable, thieving cur—are you, who dare to address me thus?” cried Mr Whyte, as he strode, with flashing eyes, up to the enraged Indian.Misconna clinched his teeth, and his fingers worked convulsively about the handle of his knife, as he exclaimed, “I am no dog. The palefaces are dogs. I am a great chief. My name is known among the braves of my tribe. It is Misconna—”As the name fell from his lips, Mr Whyte and Charley were suddenly dashed aside, and Jacques sprang towards the Indian, his face livid, his eyeballs almost bursting from their sockets, and his muscles rigid with passion. For an instant he regarded the savage intently as he shrank appalled before him; then his colossal fist fell like lightning, with the weight of a sledge-hammer, on Misconna’s forehead, and drove him against the outer door, which, giving way before the violent shock, burst from its fastenings and hinges, and fell, along with the savage, with a loud crash to the ground.For an instant every one stood aghast at this precipitate termination to the discussion, and then, springing forward in a body, with drawn knives, the Indians rushed upon the white men, who in a close phalanx, with such weapons as came first to hand, stood to receive them. At this moment Redfeather stepped forward unarmed between the belligerents, and turning to the Indians, said—“Listen: Redfeather does not take the part of his white friends against his comrades. You know that he never failed you in the war-path, and he would not fail you now if your cause were just. But the eyes of his comrades are shut. Redfeather knows what they do not know. The white hunter” (pointing to Jacques) “is a friend of Redfeather. He is a friend of the Knisteneux. He did not strike because you disputed with his bourgeois; he struck because Misconnais his mortal foe. But the story is long. Redfeather will tell it at the council fire.”“He is right,” exclaimed Jacques, who had recovered his usual grave expression of countenance, “Redfeather is right. I bear you no ill-will, Injins, and I shall explain the thing myself at your council fire.”As Jacques spoke the Indians sheathed their knives, and stood with frowning brows, as if uncertain what to do. The unexpected interference of their comrade-in-arms, coupled with his address and that of Jacques, had excited their curiosity. Perhaps the undaunted deportment of their opponents, who stood ready for the encounter with a look of stern determination, contributed a little to allay their resentment.While the two parties stood thus confronting each other, as if uncertain how to act, a loud report was heard just outside the doorway. In another moment Mr Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the heart.

Next morning they rose with the sun, and therefore also with the birds and beasts.

A wide traverse of the lake now lay before them. This they crossed in about two hours, during which time they paddled unremittingly, as the sky looked rather lowering, and they were well aware of the danger of being caught in a storm in such an egg-shell craft as an Indian canoe.

“We’ll put in here now, Mister Harry,” exclaimed Jacques, as the canoe entered the mouth of one of those small rivulets which are called in Scotlandburns, and in Americacreeks; “it’s like that your appetite is sharpened after a spell like that. Keep her head a little more to the left—straight for the p’int—so. It’s likely we’ll get some fish here if we set the net.”

“I say, Jacques, is yon a cloud or a wreath of smoke above the trees in the creek?” inquired Harry, pointing with his paddle towards the object referred to.

“It’s smoke, master; I’ve see’d it for some time, and mayhap we’ll find some Injins there who can give us news of the traders at Stoney Creek.”

“And, pray, how far do you think we may now be from that place?” inquired Harry.

“Forty miles, more or less.”

As he spoke, the canoe entered the shallow water of the creek, and began to ascend the current of the stream, which at its mouth was so sluggish as to be scarcely perceptible to the eye. Not so, however, to the arms. The light bark, which, while floating on the lake, had glided buoyantly forward as if it were itself consenting to the motion, had now become apparently imbued with a spirit of contradiction, bounding convulsively forward at each stroke of the paddles, and perceptibly losing speed at each interval. Directing their course towards a flat rock on the left bank of the stream, they ran the prow out of the water and leaped ashore. As they did so, the unexpected figure of a man issued from the bushes and sauntered towards the spot. Harry and Hamilton advanced to meet him, while Jacques remained to unload the canoe. The stranger was habited in the usual dress of a hunter, and carried a fowling-piece over his right shoulder. In general appearance he looked like an Indian; but though the face was burned by exposure to a hue that nearly equalled the red skins of the natives, a strong dash of pink in it, and the mass of fair hair which encircled it, proved that, as Harry paradoxically expressed it, its owner was awhiteman. He was young, considerably above the middle height, and apparently athletic. His address and language on approaching the young men put the question of his being awhiteman beyond a doubt.

“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he began. “I presume that you are the party we have been expecting for some time past to reinforce our staff at Stoney Creek. Is it not so?”

To this query young Somerville, who stood in advance of his friend, made no reply, but stepping hastily forward, laid a hand on each of the stranger’s shoulders, and gazed earnestly into his face, exclaiming as he did so—

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is Charley Kennedy before me—or his ghost?”

“What! eh,” exclaimed the individual thus addressed, returning Harry’s gripe and stare with interest, “is it possible? No—it cannot—Harry Somerville, my old, dear, unexpected friend!”—and pouring out broken sentences, abrupt ejaculations, and incoherent questions, to which neither vouchsafed replies, the two friends gazed at and walked round each other, shook hands, partially embraced, and committed sundry other extravagances, utterly unconscious of, or indifferent to, the fact that Hamilton was gazing at them, open-mouthed, in a species of stupor, and that Jacques was standing by, regarding them with a look of mingled amusement and satisfaction. The discovery of this latter personage was a source of renewed delight and astonishment to Charley, who was so much upset by the commotion of his spirits, in consequence of this, so to speak, double shot, that he became rambling and incoherent in his speech during the remainder of that day, and gave vent to frequent and sudden bursts of smothered enthusiasm, in which it would appear, from the occasional muttering of the names of Redfeather and Jacques, that he not only felicitated himself on his own good fortune, but also anticipated renewed pleasure in witnessing the joyful meeting of these two worthies ere long. In fact, this meeting did take place on the following day, when Redfeather, returning from a successful hunt, with part of a deer on his shoulders, entered Charley’s tent, in which the travellers had spent the previous day and night, and discovered the guide gravely discussing a venison steak before the fire.

It would be vain to attempt a description of all that the reunited friends said and did during the first twenty-four hours after their meeting: how they talked of old times, as they lay extended round the fire inside of Charley’s tent, and recounted their adventures by flood and field since they last met; how they sometimes diverged into questions of speculative philosophy (as conversationswilloften diverge, whether we wish it or not), and broke short off to make sudden inquiries after old friends; how this naturally led them to talk of new friends and new scenes, until they began to forecast their eyes a little into the future; and how, on feeling that this was an uncongenial theme under present circumstances, they reverted again to the past, and by a peculiar train of conversation—to retrace which were utterly impossible—they invariably arrived atoldtimes again. Having in course of the evening pretty well exhausted their powers, both mental and physical, they went to sleep on it, and resumed the colloquialmélangein the morning.

“And now tell me, Charley, what you are doing in this uninhabited part of the world, so far from Stoney Creek,” said Harry Somerville, as they assembled round the fire to breakfast.

“That is soon explained,” replied Charley. “My good friend and superior, Mr Whyte, having got himself comfortably housed at Stoney Creek, thought it advisable to establish a sort of half outpost, half fishing-station, about twenty miles below the new fort, and believing (very justly) that my talents lay a good deal in the way of fishing and shooting, sent me to superintend it during the summer months. I am, therefore, at present monarch of that notable establishment, which is not yet dignified with a name. Hearing that there were plenty of deer about twenty miles below my palace, I resolved the other day to gratify my love of sport, and at the same time procure some venison for Stoney Creek; accordingly, I took Redfeather with me, and—here I am.”

“Very good,” said Harry; “and can you give us the least idea of what they are going to do with my friend Hamilton and me when they get us?”

“Can’t say. One of you, at any rate, will be kept at the creek, to assist Mr Whyte; the other may, perhaps, be appointed to relieve me at the fishing for a time, whileIam sent off to push the trade in other quarters. But I’m only guessing. I don’t know anything definitely, for Mr Whyte is by no means communicative.”

“An’ please, master,” put in Jacques, “when do you mean to let us off from this place? I guess the bourgeois won’t be over pleased if we waste time here.”

“We’ll start this forenoon, Jacques. I and Redfeather shall go along with you, as I intended to take a run up to the creek about this time at any rate.—Have you the skins and dried meat packed, Redfeather?”

To this the Indian replied in the affirmative, and the others having finished breakfast, the whole party rose to prepare for departure, and set about loading their canoes forthwith. An hour later they were again cleaving the waters of the lake, with this difference in arrangement, that Jacques was transferred to Redfeather’s canoe, while Charley Kennedy took his place in the stern of that occupied by Harry and Hamilton.

The establishment of which our friend Charley pronounced himself absolute monarch, and at which they arrived in the course of the same afternoon, consisted of two small log houses or huts, constructed in the rudest fashion, and without any attempt whatever at architectural embellishment. It was pleasantly situated on a small bay, whose northern extremity was sheltered from the arctic blast by a gentle rising ground clothed with wood. A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men in a canoe completed the picture. The said two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population.

“Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley,” remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station.

“Very,” was the laconic reply.

They had scarcely passed the place above a mile, when a canoe, containing a solitary Indian, was observed to shoot out from the shore and paddle hastily towards them. From this man they learned that a herd of deer was passing down towards the lake, and would be on its banks in a few minutes. He had been waiting their arrival when the canoes came in sight, and induced him to hurry out so as to give them warning. Having no time to lose, the whole party now paddled swiftly for the shore, and reached it just a few minutes before the branching antlers of the deer came in sight above the low bushes that skirted the wood. Harry Somerville embarked in the bow of the strange Indian’s canoe, so as to lighten the other, and enable all parties to have a fair chance. After snuffing the breeze for a few seconds, the foremost animal took the water, and commenced swimming towards the opposite shore of the lake, which at this particular spot was narrow. It was followed by seven others. After sufficient time was permitted to elapse to render their being cut off, in an attempt to return, quite certain, the three canoes darted from the shelter of the overhanging bushes, and sprang lightly over the water in pursuit.

“Don’t hurry, and strike sure,” cried Jacques to his young friends, as they came up with the terrified deer that now swam for their lives.

“Ay, ay,” was the reply.

In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian’s spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal’s back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head sank slowly, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, dispatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives.

“Ha!” exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, “that’s a good stock o’ meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well.”

“It was much wanted, Jacques: we’ve a good many mouths to feed, besidestreatingthe Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of the hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him.”

“True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the redskin by rights, that’s sartin.”

After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek.

“Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said Mr Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; “I’ve been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you’ve come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have dispatches, of course. Ah! that’s right,” (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), “that’s right. I must peruse these at once.—Mr Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half an hour.” So saying, Mr Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence—not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc.

“Now it strikes me,” remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley’s bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner—“it strikes me that ifthat’shis usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn’t anticipate.”

“Don’t judge from first impressions; they’re often deceptive,” spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds—an act which afterwards cost him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears.

“Right,” exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.—“You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He’s a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he’ll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience.”

“Which means to saythreethings,” replied the implacable Harry: “first, that for all his good-heartedness atbottom, he never shows any of it at top, and is therefore like unto truth, which is said to lie at the bottom of a well—so deep, in fact, that it is never got out, and so is of use to nobody; secondly, that he is possessed of that amount of affection which is common to all mankind (to a great extent even to brutes), which prompts a man to be reasonably attentive to his friends; and thirdly, that you, Master Kennedy, enjoy the peculiar privilege of being the friend of a two-legged polar bear!”

“Were I not certain that you jest,” retorted Kennedy, “I would compel you to apologise to me for insulting my friend, you rascal! But see, here’s the cook coming to tell us that dinner waits. If you don’t wish to see the teeth of the polar bear, I’d advise you to be smart.”

Thus admonished, Harry sprang up, plunged his hands and face in the basin and dried them, broke Charley’s comb in attempting to pass it hastily through his hair, used his fingers savagely as a substitute, and overtook his companions just as they entered the messroom.

The establishment of Stoney Creek was comprised within two acres of ground. It consisted of eight or nine houses—three of which, however, alone met the eye on approaching by the lake. The “great” house, as it was termed, on account of its relative proportion to the other buildings, was a small edifice, built substantially but roughly of unsquared logs, partially whitewashed, roofed with shingles, and boasting six small windows in front, with a large door between them. On its east side, and at right angles to it, was a similar edifice, but smaller, having two doors instead of one, and four windows instead of six. This was the trading-shop and provision-store. Opposite to this was a twin building which contained the furs and a variety of miscellaneous stores. Thus were formed three sides of a square, from the centre of which rose a tall flagstaff. The buildings behind those just described were smaller and insignificant—the principal one being the house appropriated to the men; the others were mere sheds and workshops. Luxuriant forests ascended the slopes that rose behind and encircled this oasis on all sides, excepting in front, where the clear waters of the lake sparkled like a blue mirror.

On the margin of this lake the new arrivals, left to enjoy themselves as they best might for a day or two, sauntered about and chatted to their hearts’ content of things past, present, and future.

During these wanderings, Harry confessed that his opinion of Mr Whyte had somewhat changed: that he believed a good deal of the first bad impression was attributable to his cool, not to say impolite, reception of them; and that he thought things would go on much better with the Indians if he would only try to let some of his good qualities be seen through his exterior.

An expression of sadness passed over Charley’s face as his friend said this.

“You are right in the last particular,” he said, with a sigh. “Mr Whyte is so rough and overbearing that the Indians are beginning to dislike him. Some of the more clear-sighted among them see that a good deal of this lies in mere manner, and have penetration enough to observe that in all his dealings with them he is straightforward and liberal; but there are a set of them who either don’t see this, or are so indignant at the rough speeches he often makes, and the rough treatment he sometimes threatens, that they won’t forgive him, but seem to be nursing their wrath. I sometimes wish he was sent to a district where the Indians and traders are, from habitual intercourse, more accustomed to each other’s ways, and so less likely to quarrel.”

“Have the Indians, then, used any open threats?” asked Harry.

“No, not exactly; but through an old man of the tribe, who is well affected towards us, I have learned that there is a party among them who seem bent on mischief.”

“Then we may expect a row some day or other. That’s pleasant!—What think you, Hammy?” said Harry, turning to his friend.

“I think that it would be anything but pleasant,” he replied; “and I sincerely hope that we shall not have occasion for a row.”

“You’re not afraid of a fight, are you, Hamilton?” asked Charley.

The peculiarly bland smile with which Hamilton usually received any remark that savoured of banter overspread his features as Charley spoke, but he merely replied,—“No, Charley, I’m not afraid.”

“Do you know any of the Indians who are so anxious to vent their spleen on our worthy bourgeois?” asked Harry, as he seated himself on a rocky eminence commanding a view of the richly-wooded slopes, dotted with huge masses of rock that had fallen from the beetling cliffs behind the creek.

“Yes, I do,” replied Charley; “and, by the way, one of them—the ringleader—is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name. You’ve heard of an Indian called Misconna?”

“What!” exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; “you don’t mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the shores of Lake Winnipeg—the man who killed poor Jacques’s young wife?”

“The same,” replied Charley.

“And does Jacques know he is here?”

“He does; but Jacques is a strange, unaccountable mortal. You remember that in the struggle described by Redfeather the trapper and Misconna had neither of them seen each other, Redfeather having felled the latter before the former reached the scene of action—a scene which, he has since told me, he witnessed at a distance, while rushing to the rescue of his wife—so that Misconna is utterly ignorant of the fact that the husband of his victim is now so near him; indeed, he does not know that she had a husband at all. On the other hand, although Jacques is aware that his bitterest enemy is within rifle-range of him at this moment, he does not know him by sight; and this morning he came to me, begging that I would send Misconna on some expedition or other, just to keep him out of his way.”

“And do you intend to do so?”

“I shall do my best,” replied Charley; “but I cannot get him out of the way till to-morrow, as there is to be a gathering of Indians in the hall this very day, to have a palaver with Mr Whyte about their grievances, and Misconna wouldn’t miss that for a trifle. But Jacques won’t be likely to recognise him among so many; and if he does, I rely with confidence on his powers of restraint and forbearance.—By the way,” he continued, glancing upwards, “it is past noon, and the Indians will have begun to assemble; so we had better hasten back, as we shall be expected to help in keeping order.”

So saying, he rose, and the young men returned to the fort. On reaching it they found the hall crowded with natives, who sat cross-legged around the walls, or stood in groups conversing in low tones, and to judge from the expression of their dark eyes and lowering brows, they were in extremely bad humour. They became silent and more respectful, however, in their demeanour when the young men entered the apartment and walked up to the fireplace, in which a small fire of wood burned on the hearth, more as a convenient means of rekindling the pipes of the Indians when they went out than as a means of heating the place. Jacques and Redfeather stood leaning against the wall near to it, engaged in a whispered conversation. Glancing round as he entered, Charley observed Misconna sitting a little apart by himself, and apparently buried in deep thought. He had scarcely perceived him, and nodded to several of his particular friends among the crowd, when a side-door opened, and Mr Whyte, with an angry expression on his countenance, strode up to the fireplace, planted himself before it, with his legs apart and his hands behind him, while he silently surveyed the group.

“So,” he began, “you have asked to speak with me; well, here I am. What have you to say?”

Mr Whyte addressed the Indians in their native tongue, having, during a long residence in the country, learned to speak it as fluently as English.

For some moments there was silence. Then an old chief—the same who had officiated at the feast described in a former chapter—rose, and standing forth into the middle of the room, made a long and grave oration, in which, besides a great deal that was bombastic, much that was irrelevant, and more that was utterly fabulous and nonsensical, he recounted the sorrows of himself and his tribe, concluding with a request that the great chief would take these things into consideration—the principal “things” being that they did not get anything in the shape of gratuities, while it was notorious that the Indians in other districts did, and that they did not get enough of goods in advance, on credit of their future hunts.

Mr Whyte heard the old man to the end in silence; then, without altering his position, he looked round on the assembly with a frown, and said, “Now listen to me; I am a man of few words. I have told you over and over again, and now repeat it, that you shall get no gratuities until you prove yourselves worthy of them. I shall not increase your advances by so much as half an inch of tobacco till your last year’s debts are scored off, and you begin to show more activity in hunting and less disposition to grumble. Hitherto you have not brought in anything like the quantity of furs that the capabilities of the country led me to expect. You are lazy. Until you become better hunters you shall have no redress from me.”

As he finished, Mr Whyte made a step towards the door by which he had entered, but was arrested by another chief, who requested to be heard. Resuming his place and attitude, Mr Whyte listened with an expression of dogged determination, while guttural grunts of unequivocal dissatisfaction issued from the throats of several of the malcontents. The Indian proceeded to repeat a few of the remarks made by his predecessor, but more concisely, and wound up by explaining that the failure in the hunts of the previous year was owing to the will of the Great Manito, and not by any means on account of the supposed laziness of himself or his tribe.

“That is false,” said Mr Whyte; “you know it is not true.”

As this was said, a murmur of anger ran round the apartment, which was interrupted by Misconna, who, apparently unable to restrain his passion, sprang into the middle of the room, and confronting Mr Whyte, made a short and pithy speech, accompanied by violent gesticulation, in which he insinuated that if redress was not granted the white men would bitterly repent it.

During his speech the Indians had risen to their feet and drawn closer together, while Jacques and the three young men drew near their superior. Redfeather remained apart, motionless, and with his eyes fixed on the ground.

“And, pray, what dog—what miserable, thieving cur—are you, who dare to address me thus?” cried Mr Whyte, as he strode, with flashing eyes, up to the enraged Indian.

Misconna clinched his teeth, and his fingers worked convulsively about the handle of his knife, as he exclaimed, “I am no dog. The palefaces are dogs. I am a great chief. My name is known among the braves of my tribe. It is Misconna—”

As the name fell from his lips, Mr Whyte and Charley were suddenly dashed aside, and Jacques sprang towards the Indian, his face livid, his eyeballs almost bursting from their sockets, and his muscles rigid with passion. For an instant he regarded the savage intently as he shrank appalled before him; then his colossal fist fell like lightning, with the weight of a sledge-hammer, on Misconna’s forehead, and drove him against the outer door, which, giving way before the violent shock, burst from its fastenings and hinges, and fell, along with the savage, with a loud crash to the ground.

For an instant every one stood aghast at this precipitate termination to the discussion, and then, springing forward in a body, with drawn knives, the Indians rushed upon the white men, who in a close phalanx, with such weapons as came first to hand, stood to receive them. At this moment Redfeather stepped forward unarmed between the belligerents, and turning to the Indians, said—

“Listen: Redfeather does not take the part of his white friends against his comrades. You know that he never failed you in the war-path, and he would not fail you now if your cause were just. But the eyes of his comrades are shut. Redfeather knows what they do not know. The white hunter” (pointing to Jacques) “is a friend of Redfeather. He is a friend of the Knisteneux. He did not strike because you disputed with his bourgeois; he struck because Misconnais his mortal foe. But the story is long. Redfeather will tell it at the council fire.”

“He is right,” exclaimed Jacques, who had recovered his usual grave expression of countenance, “Redfeather is right. I bear you no ill-will, Injins, and I shall explain the thing myself at your council fire.”

As Jacques spoke the Indians sheathed their knives, and stood with frowning brows, as if uncertain what to do. The unexpected interference of their comrade-in-arms, coupled with his address and that of Jacques, had excited their curiosity. Perhaps the undaunted deportment of their opponents, who stood ready for the encounter with a look of stern determination, contributed a little to allay their resentment.

While the two parties stood thus confronting each other, as if uncertain how to act, a loud report was heard just outside the doorway. In another moment Mr Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the heart.

Chapter Twenty Seven.The chase—The fight—Retribution—Low spirits and good news.The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate principal of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment.When, therefore, they beheld Mr Whyte weltering in his blood at their feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the woods in hot pursuit of him whom they now counted their enemy. They were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr Whyte into an adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the murderer’s aim having been terribly true.Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the open doorway, and approaching the group, stood in silence beside them, with his arms folded on his breast.“You have something to tell, Redfeather,” said Jacques, in a subdued tone, after regarding him a few seconds; “is the scoundrel caught?”“Misconna’s foot is swift,” replied the Indian, “and the wood is thick. It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes.”“What would you advise, then?” exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice. “I see that you have some plan to propose.”“The wood is thick,” answered Redfeather, “but the lake and the river are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river.”“That’s it, that’s it, Injin,” interrupted Jacques energetically; “yer wits are always jumpin’. By crossin’ over to Duck River, we can start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall; an’ as it’s thereabouts he must cross, we’ll be time enough to catch him. If he tries the lake, the other party’llfixhim there; an’ he’ll be soon poked up if he tries to hide in the bush.”“Come, then; we’ll all give chase at once,” cried Charley, feeling a temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in the loss of his chief and friend.Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of men, launched their canoe on the lake, and set off in pursuit.Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending the stream.“How do you mean to act, Jacques?” inquired Charley, as he paddled alongside of the guide’s canoe. “Is it not likely that Misconna may have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance of catching him.”“Niver fear,” returned Jacques. “He must have longer legs than most men if he gets to the flat-rock fall before us, an’ as that’s the spot where he’ll nat’rally cross the river, being the only straight line for the hills that escapes the bend o’ the bay to the south o’ Stoney Creek, we’re pretty sartin to stop him there.”“True; but that being, as you you say, thenaturalroute, don’t you think it likely he’ll expect that it will be guarded, and avoid it accordingly?”“Hewoulddo so, Mister Charles, if he thought we werehere; but there are two reasons agin this. He thinks that he’s got the start o’ us, an’ won’t need to double by way o’ deceivin’ us; and then he knows that the whole tribe is after him, and consekintly won’t take a long road when there’s a short one, if he can help it. But here’s the rock. Look out, Mister Charles. We’ll have to run the fall, which isn’t very big just now, and then hide in the bushes at the foot of it till the blackguard shows himself. Keep well to the right, an’ don’t mind the big rock; the rush o’ water takes you clear o’ that without trouble.”With this concluding piece of advice, he pointed to the fall, which plunged over a ledge of rock about half a mile ahead of them, and which was distinguishable by a small column of white spray that rose out of it. As Charley beheld it his spirits rose, and forgetting for a moment the circumstances that called him there, he cried out—“I’ll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!” and in spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the stream. On seeing this the guide held back, so as to give him sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes brought Charley’s canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow, and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville’s left shoulder just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free—an object which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however, the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a détour in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks above, and sent another shaft after them—fortunately, however, without effect.“This is unfortunate,” muttered Jacques, as the party landed and endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes; “an’ the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin’, an’ the varmint knows that, an’ will be down on us in a twinklin’.”“But we are four to one,” exclaimed Harry. “Surely we don’t need to fear much from a single enemy.”“Humph!” ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun. “You’ve had little to do with Injins, that’s plain. You may be sure he’s not alone, an’ the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us all on a pretty long journey. But we’ve the trees to dodge behind. If I only hadonedry charge!” and the disconcerted guide gave a look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun.“Never mind,” cried Charley; “we have our paddles.—But I forgot, Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must have it examined before doing anything further.”“Oh, it’s nothing at all—a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very little pain.”As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past Jacques’s ear.“Ah, so soon!” exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with them.From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he was accompanied by eight others; who appeared, however, to be totally unarmed—having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group, and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party, especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was intended.Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going up to Charley, exclaimed, “Now, Mister Charles, I’m goin’ to run away, so you’d better come along with me.”“That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?” inquired the other, in astonishment.“I mean that these stupid redskins can’t make up their minds what to do, an’ as I’ve no notion o’ stoppin’ here all day, I want to make them do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the wood and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o’ trouble, and git away after all; whereas, if we runaway, they’ll bolt after us in a body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which’ll be more comfortable-like, an’ easier to manage.”As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and being observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow was sent among them.“Now, follow me,” said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after them in a body, uttering horrible yells.“Now, then, stop here; down with you.”Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing that the white men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall, muscular fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush behind which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the guide’s fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach, that it sent him violently back into the bush, where he lay insensible. This event, of course, put a check upon the headlong pursuit of the others, who suddenly paused, like a group of infuriated tigers unexpectedly balked of their prey. The hesitation, however, was but for a moment. Misconna, who was in advance, suddenly drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow at Jacques, which the latter dexterously avoided; and while his antagonist lowered his eyes for an instant to fit another arrow to the string, the guide, making use of his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw it with such force and precision that it struck Misconna directly between the eyes and felled him to the earth. In another instant the two parties rushed upon each other, and a generalmélée, ensued, in which the white men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the use of their fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them all, although inferior in numbers. Charley’s first antagonist, making an abortive attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on the chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank into the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry, having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on the head with his paddle. The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other, they immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry learned, when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost powerless. Meanwhile, the Canadian, having been assaulted by three Indians at once, floored one at the onset, and immediately began an impromptu war-dance round the other two, dealing them occasionally a kick or a blow, which would speedily have rendered themhors de combat, had they not succeeded in closing upon him, when all three fell heavily to the ground. Jacques and Charley, having succeeded in overcoming their respective opponents, immediately hastened to his rescue. In the meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a considerable distance from the others, gradually edging towards the river’s bank. Feeling faint from his wound, the former at length sank under the weight of his powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to thrust him over a kind of cliff which they had approached. He was on the point of accomplishing his purpose, when Charley and his friends perceived Harry’s imminent danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly though they ran, however, it seemed likely that they would be too late. Harry’s head already overhung the bank, and the Indian was endeavouring to loosen the gripe of the young man’s hand from his throat, preparatory to tossing him over, when a wild cry rang through the forest, followed by the reports of a double-barrelled gun, fired in quick succession. Immediately after, young Hamilton bounded like a deer down the slope, seized the Indian by the legs, and tossed him over the cliff, where he turned a complete somersault in his descent, and fell with a sounding splash into the water.“Well done, cleverly done, lad!” cried Jacques, as he and the rest of the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of partial stupor on the bank.At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with the exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to succour his friends.“Thank God,” said Hamilton, softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples—“thank God that I have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river considerably in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe, when I heard the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid.”At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow still protruded.“It’s a wonder to me, Mister Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so long,” muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of the fur-traders who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry and such of the party as were more or less severely injured were placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River runs at the distance of about half a mile from the spot on which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter.On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna land than they advanced to seize him.“Keep back, friends,” cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions, and stepped hastily between them.—“Come here, lads,” he continued, turning to his companions; “surround Misconna. He isourprisoner, and must ha’ fair justice done him, accordin’ to white law.”They fell back in silence on observing the guide’s determined manner; but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before any one could prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna’s brain. Seeing that the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the Indians, rushing upon his body, bore it away, amid shouts and yells of execration, to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to a point of land that jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to ashes.There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair aspect of this world is darkened—when everything, whether past, present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that thisfirstperiod of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most men.Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have endeavoured to describe our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately after the events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his friend Mr Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was to scenes of bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From the depression, however, which naturally followed he would probably soon have rallied had not Harry Somerville’s wound in the shoulder taken an unfavourable turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks in bed, under the influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a desolation creeping over his soul that no effort he was capable of making could shake off. It is true he found both occupation and pleasure in attending upon his sick friend; but as Harry’s illness rendered great quiet necessary, and as Hamilton had been sent to take charge of the fishing-station mentioned in a former chapter, Charley was obliged to indulge his gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his wretchedness, he received a letter from Kate about a week after Mr Whyte’s burial, telling him of the death of his mother.Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques—both of whom, at their young master’s earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek—cultivated each other’s acquaintance sedulously. There were no books of any kind at the outpost, excepting three Bibles—one belonging to Charley, and one to Harry, the third being that which had been presented to Jacques by Mr Conway the missionary. This single volume, however, proved to be an ample library to Jacques and his Indian friend. Neither of these sons of the forest was much accustomed to reading, and neither of them would have for a moment entertained the idea of taking to literature as a pastime; but Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great truths which he discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what he read was to him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on the other hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that philosophic gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he displayed in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted were the discussions they plunged into, as night after night they sat on a log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light of the blazing fire in the men’s house at Stoney Creek. Their intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr Conway, the missionary, in his tin canoe. This gentleman’s appearance was most welcome to all parties. It was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who could fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of mind. It was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville, inasmuch as it provided him with an amateur doctor who really understood somewhat of his physical complaint, and was able to pour balm, at once literally and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an event productive of the liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now felt assured that his tribe would have those mysteries explained which he only imperfectly understood himself; and it was an event of much rejoicing to the Indians themselves because their curiosity had been not a little roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings of the white missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake. The only person, perhaps, on whom Mr Conway’s arrival acted with other than a pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy, although glad to meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love and respect, was by no means gratified to find that his friend Redfeather had agreed to go with the missionary on his visit to the Indian tribe, and thereafter to accompany him to the settlement on Playgreen Lake. But with the stoicism that was natural to him, Jacques submitted to circumstances which he could not alter, and contented himself with assuring Redfeather that if he lived till next spring he would most certainly “make tracks for the great lake,” and settle down at the missionary’s station along with him. This promise was made at the end of the wharf of Stoney Creek the morning on which Mr Conway and his party embarked in their tin canoe—the same tin canoe at which Jacques had curled his nose contemptuously when he saw it in process of being constructed, and at which he did not by any means curl it the less contemptuously now that he saw it finished. The little craft answered its purpose marvellously well, however, and bounded lightly away under the vigorous strokes of its crew, leaving Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing wistfully after their friends, and listening sadly to the echoes of their parting song as it floated more and more faintly over the lake.Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better, grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley dispatched the winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and immediate attention and change of scene. But the wordimmediatebears a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it does in the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing this hint took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its destination; months passed before the reply was written, and many weeks more elapsed ere its contents were perused by Charley and his friend. When they did read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung over them so long burst at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down brightly upon their hearts, and never forsook them again, although it did lose a little of its brilliancy after the first flash. It was on a rich, dewy, cheerful morning in early spring that the packet arrived, and Charley led Harry, who was slowly recovering his wonted health and spirits, to their favourite rocky resting-place on the margin of the lake. Here he placed the letter in his friend’s hand with a smile of genuine delight. It ran as follows:—My Dear Sir,—Your letter containing the account of Mr Somerville’s illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it advisable. I am, etcetera.“Short but sweet—uncommonly sweet!” said Harry, as a deep flush of joy crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had been absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old haunt, and danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant wanderer who has been long absent from and has at last returned to his native home.“Sweet indeed!” echoed Charley. “But that’s not all; here’s another lump of sugar for you.” So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking up at his expectant friend, winked.“Go on, Charley; pray, don’t tantalise me.”“Tantalise you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts. Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father’s letter:—“‘So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry; and as I hear that poor Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long as he may wish to remain in it.’“There! what think ye of that, my boy?” said Charley, as he folded the letter and returned it to his pocket.“I think,” replied Harry, “that your father is a dear old gentleman, and I hope that you’ll only be half as good when you come to his time of life; and I think I’m so happy to-day that I’ll be able to walk without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had better go beck to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired as if I had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter will prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what you intend to do.”Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the house, as he replied—“Do, my boy? That’s soon said. I’ll make things square and straight at Stoney Creek. I’ll send for Hamilton, and make him interim commander-in-chief. I’ll write two letters—one to the gentleman in charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other (containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal who shall succeed me here. I’ll take the best canoe in our store, load it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks hence, neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet and dry, over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River settlement!”

The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate principal of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment.

When, therefore, they beheld Mr Whyte weltering in his blood at their feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the woods in hot pursuit of him whom they now counted their enemy. They were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr Whyte into an adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the murderer’s aim having been terribly true.

Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the open doorway, and approaching the group, stood in silence beside them, with his arms folded on his breast.

“You have something to tell, Redfeather,” said Jacques, in a subdued tone, after regarding him a few seconds; “is the scoundrel caught?”

“Misconna’s foot is swift,” replied the Indian, “and the wood is thick. It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes.”

“What would you advise, then?” exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice. “I see that you have some plan to propose.”

“The wood is thick,” answered Redfeather, “but the lake and the river are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river.”

“That’s it, that’s it, Injin,” interrupted Jacques energetically; “yer wits are always jumpin’. By crossin’ over to Duck River, we can start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall; an’ as it’s thereabouts he must cross, we’ll be time enough to catch him. If he tries the lake, the other party’llfixhim there; an’ he’ll be soon poked up if he tries to hide in the bush.”

“Come, then; we’ll all give chase at once,” cried Charley, feeling a temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in the loss of his chief and friend.

Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of men, launched their canoe on the lake, and set off in pursuit.

Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending the stream.

“How do you mean to act, Jacques?” inquired Charley, as he paddled alongside of the guide’s canoe. “Is it not likely that Misconna may have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance of catching him.”

“Niver fear,” returned Jacques. “He must have longer legs than most men if he gets to the flat-rock fall before us, an’ as that’s the spot where he’ll nat’rally cross the river, being the only straight line for the hills that escapes the bend o’ the bay to the south o’ Stoney Creek, we’re pretty sartin to stop him there.”

“True; but that being, as you you say, thenaturalroute, don’t you think it likely he’ll expect that it will be guarded, and avoid it accordingly?”

“Hewoulddo so, Mister Charles, if he thought we werehere; but there are two reasons agin this. He thinks that he’s got the start o’ us, an’ won’t need to double by way o’ deceivin’ us; and then he knows that the whole tribe is after him, and consekintly won’t take a long road when there’s a short one, if he can help it. But here’s the rock. Look out, Mister Charles. We’ll have to run the fall, which isn’t very big just now, and then hide in the bushes at the foot of it till the blackguard shows himself. Keep well to the right, an’ don’t mind the big rock; the rush o’ water takes you clear o’ that without trouble.”

With this concluding piece of advice, he pointed to the fall, which plunged over a ledge of rock about half a mile ahead of them, and which was distinguishable by a small column of white spray that rose out of it. As Charley beheld it his spirits rose, and forgetting for a moment the circumstances that called him there, he cried out—

“I’ll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!” and in spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the stream. On seeing this the guide held back, so as to give him sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes brought Charley’s canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow, and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville’s left shoulder just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free—an object which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however, the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a détour in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks above, and sent another shaft after them—fortunately, however, without effect.

“This is unfortunate,” muttered Jacques, as the party landed and endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes; “an’ the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin’, an’ the varmint knows that, an’ will be down on us in a twinklin’.”

“But we are four to one,” exclaimed Harry. “Surely we don’t need to fear much from a single enemy.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun. “You’ve had little to do with Injins, that’s plain. You may be sure he’s not alone, an’ the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us all on a pretty long journey. But we’ve the trees to dodge behind. If I only hadonedry charge!” and the disconcerted guide gave a look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun.

“Never mind,” cried Charley; “we have our paddles.—But I forgot, Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must have it examined before doing anything further.”

“Oh, it’s nothing at all—a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very little pain.”

As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past Jacques’s ear.

“Ah, so soon!” exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with them.

From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he was accompanied by eight others; who appeared, however, to be totally unarmed—having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group, and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party, especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was intended.

Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going up to Charley, exclaimed, “Now, Mister Charles, I’m goin’ to run away, so you’d better come along with me.”

“That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?” inquired the other, in astonishment.

“I mean that these stupid redskins can’t make up their minds what to do, an’ as I’ve no notion o’ stoppin’ here all day, I want to make them do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the wood and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o’ trouble, and git away after all; whereas, if we runaway, they’ll bolt after us in a body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which’ll be more comfortable-like, an’ easier to manage.”

As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and being observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow was sent among them.

“Now, follow me,” said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after them in a body, uttering horrible yells.

“Now, then, stop here; down with you.”

Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing that the white men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall, muscular fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush behind which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the guide’s fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach, that it sent him violently back into the bush, where he lay insensible. This event, of course, put a check upon the headlong pursuit of the others, who suddenly paused, like a group of infuriated tigers unexpectedly balked of their prey. The hesitation, however, was but for a moment. Misconna, who was in advance, suddenly drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow at Jacques, which the latter dexterously avoided; and while his antagonist lowered his eyes for an instant to fit another arrow to the string, the guide, making use of his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw it with such force and precision that it struck Misconna directly between the eyes and felled him to the earth. In another instant the two parties rushed upon each other, and a generalmélée, ensued, in which the white men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the use of their fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them all, although inferior in numbers. Charley’s first antagonist, making an abortive attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on the chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank into the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry, having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on the head with his paddle. The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other, they immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry learned, when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost powerless. Meanwhile, the Canadian, having been assaulted by three Indians at once, floored one at the onset, and immediately began an impromptu war-dance round the other two, dealing them occasionally a kick or a blow, which would speedily have rendered themhors de combat, had they not succeeded in closing upon him, when all three fell heavily to the ground. Jacques and Charley, having succeeded in overcoming their respective opponents, immediately hastened to his rescue. In the meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a considerable distance from the others, gradually edging towards the river’s bank. Feeling faint from his wound, the former at length sank under the weight of his powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to thrust him over a kind of cliff which they had approached. He was on the point of accomplishing his purpose, when Charley and his friends perceived Harry’s imminent danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly though they ran, however, it seemed likely that they would be too late. Harry’s head already overhung the bank, and the Indian was endeavouring to loosen the gripe of the young man’s hand from his throat, preparatory to tossing him over, when a wild cry rang through the forest, followed by the reports of a double-barrelled gun, fired in quick succession. Immediately after, young Hamilton bounded like a deer down the slope, seized the Indian by the legs, and tossed him over the cliff, where he turned a complete somersault in his descent, and fell with a sounding splash into the water.

“Well done, cleverly done, lad!” cried Jacques, as he and the rest of the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of partial stupor on the bank.

At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with the exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to succour his friends.

“Thank God,” said Hamilton, softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples—“thank God that I have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river considerably in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe, when I heard the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid.”

At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow still protruded.

“It’s a wonder to me, Mister Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so long,” muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of the fur-traders who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry and such of the party as were more or less severely injured were placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River runs at the distance of about half a mile from the spot on which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter.

On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna land than they advanced to seize him.

“Keep back, friends,” cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions, and stepped hastily between them.—“Come here, lads,” he continued, turning to his companions; “surround Misconna. He isourprisoner, and must ha’ fair justice done him, accordin’ to white law.”

They fell back in silence on observing the guide’s determined manner; but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before any one could prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna’s brain. Seeing that the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the Indians, rushing upon his body, bore it away, amid shouts and yells of execration, to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to a point of land that jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to ashes.

There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair aspect of this world is darkened—when everything, whether past, present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that thisfirstperiod of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most men.

Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have endeavoured to describe our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately after the events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his friend Mr Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was to scenes of bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From the depression, however, which naturally followed he would probably soon have rallied had not Harry Somerville’s wound in the shoulder taken an unfavourable turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks in bed, under the influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a desolation creeping over his soul that no effort he was capable of making could shake off. It is true he found both occupation and pleasure in attending upon his sick friend; but as Harry’s illness rendered great quiet necessary, and as Hamilton had been sent to take charge of the fishing-station mentioned in a former chapter, Charley was obliged to indulge his gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his wretchedness, he received a letter from Kate about a week after Mr Whyte’s burial, telling him of the death of his mother.

Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques—both of whom, at their young master’s earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek—cultivated each other’s acquaintance sedulously. There were no books of any kind at the outpost, excepting three Bibles—one belonging to Charley, and one to Harry, the third being that which had been presented to Jacques by Mr Conway the missionary. This single volume, however, proved to be an ample library to Jacques and his Indian friend. Neither of these sons of the forest was much accustomed to reading, and neither of them would have for a moment entertained the idea of taking to literature as a pastime; but Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great truths which he discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what he read was to him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on the other hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that philosophic gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he displayed in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted were the discussions they plunged into, as night after night they sat on a log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light of the blazing fire in the men’s house at Stoney Creek. Their intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr Conway, the missionary, in his tin canoe. This gentleman’s appearance was most welcome to all parties. It was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who could fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of mind. It was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville, inasmuch as it provided him with an amateur doctor who really understood somewhat of his physical complaint, and was able to pour balm, at once literally and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an event productive of the liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now felt assured that his tribe would have those mysteries explained which he only imperfectly understood himself; and it was an event of much rejoicing to the Indians themselves because their curiosity had been not a little roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings of the white missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake. The only person, perhaps, on whom Mr Conway’s arrival acted with other than a pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy, although glad to meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love and respect, was by no means gratified to find that his friend Redfeather had agreed to go with the missionary on his visit to the Indian tribe, and thereafter to accompany him to the settlement on Playgreen Lake. But with the stoicism that was natural to him, Jacques submitted to circumstances which he could not alter, and contented himself with assuring Redfeather that if he lived till next spring he would most certainly “make tracks for the great lake,” and settle down at the missionary’s station along with him. This promise was made at the end of the wharf of Stoney Creek the morning on which Mr Conway and his party embarked in their tin canoe—the same tin canoe at which Jacques had curled his nose contemptuously when he saw it in process of being constructed, and at which he did not by any means curl it the less contemptuously now that he saw it finished. The little craft answered its purpose marvellously well, however, and bounded lightly away under the vigorous strokes of its crew, leaving Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing wistfully after their friends, and listening sadly to the echoes of their parting song as it floated more and more faintly over the lake.

Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better, grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley dispatched the winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and immediate attention and change of scene. But the wordimmediatebears a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it does in the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing this hint took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its destination; months passed before the reply was written, and many weeks more elapsed ere its contents were perused by Charley and his friend. When they did read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung over them so long burst at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down brightly upon their hearts, and never forsook them again, although it did lose a little of its brilliancy after the first flash. It was on a rich, dewy, cheerful morning in early spring that the packet arrived, and Charley led Harry, who was slowly recovering his wonted health and spirits, to their favourite rocky resting-place on the margin of the lake. Here he placed the letter in his friend’s hand with a smile of genuine delight. It ran as follows:—

My Dear Sir,—Your letter containing the account of Mr Somerville’s illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it advisable. I am, etcetera.

My Dear Sir,—Your letter containing the account of Mr Somerville’s illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it advisable. I am, etcetera.

“Short but sweet—uncommonly sweet!” said Harry, as a deep flush of joy crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had been absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old haunt, and danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant wanderer who has been long absent from and has at last returned to his native home.

“Sweet indeed!” echoed Charley. “But that’s not all; here’s another lump of sugar for you.” So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking up at his expectant friend, winked.

“Go on, Charley; pray, don’t tantalise me.”

“Tantalise you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts. Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father’s letter:—

“‘So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry; and as I hear that poor Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long as he may wish to remain in it.’

“‘So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry; and as I hear that poor Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long as he may wish to remain in it.’

“There! what think ye of that, my boy?” said Charley, as he folded the letter and returned it to his pocket.

“I think,” replied Harry, “that your father is a dear old gentleman, and I hope that you’ll only be half as good when you come to his time of life; and I think I’m so happy to-day that I’ll be able to walk without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had better go beck to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired as if I had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter will prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what you intend to do.”

Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the house, as he replied—

“Do, my boy? That’s soon said. I’ll make things square and straight at Stoney Creek. I’ll send for Hamilton, and make him interim commander-in-chief. I’ll write two letters—one to the gentleman in charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other (containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal who shall succeed me here. I’ll take the best canoe in our store, load it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks hence, neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet and dry, over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River settlement!”

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