It was not until they had completed the day's task and the wood was all ready to be loaded into the cart, that Mr. Macrae missed Ailie.
Not seeing her about, he called out:
'Ailie, Ailie, my bairnie, where are you? Come ye here noo!'
Then, getting no response, he began to call louder and louder, and to go this way and that among the trees, looking anxiously for the golden-haired lassie, while Hector ran out on the prairie calling with all his might:
'Ailie! Ailie! come here.' Still no answer, and as the sun had set and it was already beginning to grow dusk, the anxiety of father and brother became intense.
Little Ailie was lost—lost on the prairie—and in a short time night would be upon them. Oh, what was to be done?
After the first hurried rushing hither and thither without avail, Mr. Macrae, realizing that it would be necessary to carry on the search on a larger scale, called Hector to him and said:
'We must have help. I'll go and get our friends. Ye bide here. Maybe Ailie will come back of herself.'
So saying, Mr. Macrae set off on foot across the prairie at a swift pace, far faster than could have been made by the heavily-loaded cart.
Thus left alone, Hector, in spite of himself, began to feel nervous. Snow, the first of the year, began falling softly and silently.
For some time Hector sat waiting, then the happy thought came to him to set the dogs on Ailie's trail. He took from his pocket a ribbon the child had dropped the day before, and showing it to the clever creatures, told them to 'find Ailie.' They seemed to understand at once what was expected of them, and set out on the vanishing, whitening trail, Hector keeping up with them as best he might.
Soon after this, Mr. Macrae and his party arrived, each man bearing a lantern or torch. They were greatly dismayed to find Hector also missing, and doubly hastened their preparations for the search. Under Mr. Macrae's directions, the party, leaving their horses tied to the trees, until they had first made search on foot, spread out in a long line, ten yards or so separating each man from his neighbour, and proceeded to make a thorough search of the prairie.
It was a weird night, and one such as never before had been seen there—the long line of lights bobbing about as the searchers moved through the darkness.
Meanwhile, Hector's search was being diligently made. Dour and Dandy hesitated once or twice as if puzzled, but in a moment trotted on again, and before very long they led Hector to the coulee. The excited boy fell rather than climbed down, and made straight for a sort of pocket in the bank where he could hear the dogs sniffing.
And there lay Ailie! Curled up like a kitten, and so motionless that, for a moment, Hector's heart stood still with fear. Then a quick move forward in the dim light, and his hand was among the clustered curls, and touching the warm, soft neck.
Ailie was alive! hurt, perhaps, but alive, and in the greatness of his joy the boy sent forth a shout that caused Dour and Dandy above to break forth into an 'exposition of barking' that attracted the attention of several of the searchers, making them wonder if the wise dogs might not have discovered something.
Hector picked up Ailie with the utmost tenderness. The child, aroused from her stupor, gave a little cry of fear, then threw her arms about her brother's neck, and burst into tears.
He hugged, and patted, and soothed her with loving words. 'And are ye no hurt anywhere?' he asked her, half in wonder, half in joy. 'Just to think of it. Oh, but the good God took wonderfu' care of you. Now just you bide there a minute, and I'll try to let them know I found ye.'
Ailie, puzzled but obedient, stood as she was directed, and Hector began to shout with all the vigour of his healthy young lungs. 'Hi there! Come here! I've found her! She's not hurt.'
The clear strong voice rose out of the coulee, and was first heard by those who had noticed the eager barking of Dour and Dandy. 'Ah! ha!' exclaimed one of them, Black Rory Macdonald, his shaggy face lighting up eagerly. 'Come awa', there,'—and off he went as fast as his mighty legs could carry him. He had no trouble in locating the dogs, and holding his lantern over the edge of the little hollow, he at once caught sight of Hector and Ailie.
'The gude Lord be praised!' he cried fervently. 'The bairnie's found, and there's nae hurt upon her.'
His joyous shouts rapidly brought the other searchers, Mr. Macrae being among the first to reach the spot. Without loss of time, the boy and girl were lifted out of the coulee, to be overwhelmed with demonstrations of delight and affection from men who ordinarily kept their feelings very strictly under control.
'And noo awa' tae yer mither—yer poor distracted mither,' broke in Mr. Macrae, gathering up Ailie and starting towards the place where the horses were tethered. With long impatient steps he swept over the ground, and, taking the first horse he came to, put Ailie upon the saddle before him, and galloped off for the encampment, where, with brimming eyes and trembling lips, he placed the child in the mother's arms, saying softly: 'Praise God, Mary, oor bairnie's given back to us.'
The winter came soon after this, and it was well for the Highland folk that they had at home been inured to the cold, for Jack Frost certainly did not spare them at Pembina.
The clear, dry atmosphere misled them at first. They would not realize how cold it really was, until nose or cheeks were nipped. And more than one of them had a narrow escape from being frozen to death.
Yet, upon the whole, the winter passed quite comfortably, albeit the question of food sometimes became a pressing one, when the hunters had been unsuccessful for a time.
One day, Narcisse, who took a lively interest in Hector, rushed to tell him that a great moose had been seen in the woods to the north, and that he was going out next day to hunt for him. He invited Hector to go with him.
Of course, the boy jumped at the invitation, and, his father not objecting, for he had considerable confidence in Narcisse, arrangements for the enterprise were made at once.
Mr. Macrae allowed Hector to take Dour and Dandy, and, as Narcisse had two good dogs of his own, they were well provided. The only other member of the party was Narcisse's half-brother, Baptiste, not equal to him in intelligence and experience, but a strong and good-natured fellow, who would take his share of work or danger.
They took a horse apiece, not to ride, for of course they travelled on snowshoes, but to carry their blankets, buffalo-robes, cooking gear, etc.
Hector was a very happy boy as he set forth on a superb winter morning clad in the warmest of clothing, and striding along upon his snow-shoes, in the use of which he had become quite expert.
His mother watched with eyes in which there was anxiety as well as admiration and love, but all she said was: 'Be verra carefu', laddie, and do whatever Narcisse bids you.'
They steered north-east from Pembina and travelled all day without interruption, except for the necessary mid-day meal.
The country now appeared to change somewhat. The deep woods had given place to rolling prairie, broken at the sky-line by low poplar bluffs. By nightfall they had reached the frozen marshy borders of the Roseau River. East from its waters there stretched hundreds of miles of spruce forest, home of the moose, caribou, and the great timber wolf. A rough camp was quickly made, and in the morning the hunters pursued their way again through the deep evergreens. In a short time more they would have reached the hunting-ground, when an accident occurred, that almost caused them to turn back empty-handed.
Narcisse, on his snow-shoes, in stepping over a half-burned log, fell forward, wrenching his knee so badly that on rising he could scarcely walk. All thought of the hunt had now to be given up, but as they were sadly retracing their steps, they espied the smoke of a tepee at the end of a small clearing.
A few minutes later, and to their joy they were in the broad tepee of their former friend, Wikonaie, who was himself, at that moment, preparing to start on a hunt.
Failing Narcisse, nothing would have suited Hector better than to have Wikonaie accompany them. Narcisse was left in Wikonaie's tepee in charge of the young Indians, and the horses were also left at the camp, as well as Narcisse's two dogs, who answered ill to orders from any one except their master. Then the party eagerly set-out.
The hours were passing without any sign of game, when Wikonaie gave a cry of joy. 'See!' he cried, 'you know what that means? Eh, I will show you a great moose soon.'
Their eyes followed the direction of his finger, and there, plainly printed in the snow, which was softer here, was the great footprint which, from its size, could be no other than that of the quarry they sought. They exchanged exclamations of surprise and delight, and then Wikonaie, bidding them tighten their belts, for there would be no dinner that day, gave out his plan of campaign.
The moose was ahead of him, perhaps only a mile or two; they must push forward with utmost speed and at the same time utmost caution. For this purpose, Wikonaie would lead the way, Baptiste follow, and Hector bring up the rear, keeping Dour and Dandy at heel until their services should be required.
Thus, in Indian file, they went on for quite another mile, when Wikonaie, with a low exclamation of warning, suddenly sank to his knees, at the same time pointing to something under the tree that his sharp eyes at that moment caught.
Coming up to him, the others imitated his attitude, and peered in the direction indicated, until presently they also made out a great dark mass, half-obscured by the tree-trunks, but manifestly not motionless.
'We come up to heem behind,' said Wikonaie, in a dramatic whisper, 'not in front, but on de side. You follow me!'
With the infinite care of the experienced hunter, Wikonaie made his way in a sort of semi-circle which, at the end, brought him within firing distance of the moose, and almost straight behind him. As the wind blew straight from the moose towards the hunters, things seemed very much in their favour.
'Ah, now, we must be ver' careful, ver' careful, not make no noise,' whispered Wikonaie to his companions, who nodded eager assent. Yard by yard they crept upon their unconscious prey. The giant creature had struck a small bunch of particularly young and juicy trees, and he was enjoying them to his heart's content.
When Wikonaie deemed they were sufficiently near, he gave the signal for them to be ready to fire. The next moment the woods rang out with a strange wild shout, which would have startled anything in the way of man or beast: and the moose, thus rudely interrupted in his rich repast, flung up his head with a snort, partly of fear and partly of defiance.
This was the moment for which Wikonaie was waiting. 'Now fire!' he cried, drawing the trigger of his own gun as he spoke.
Almost as one, the three reports startled the echoes of the woods, and the moose, suddenly wheeling round, the incarnation of fury and of fright, was met by the two dogs, Dour and Dandy, who sprang gallantly at him, barking and leaping for his great nose. Bewildered by this novel attack, he thought flight the best thing, and sped off into the woods at an amazing pace. Indeed, he went so fast that Hector, who had fully expected to see the great creature drop instantly, began to fear lest he might not be mortally wounded after all, and they should lose him in the woods. Wikonaie's countenance showed no such anxiety. True the moose had disappeared with the dogs at his heels, but he left on the spotless snow the sure sign of a stricken animal—great splashes of red, which told that he could not go very far.
'We follow heem now, eh?' cried Wikonaie, rapidly reloading his gun, the others doing the same. Off they set along the blood-marked trail, and, about the end of a mile, Wikonaie gave a shout of joy, for there, just ahead of him, fallen at the foot of an unusually large tree, was their quarry, to all appearances dead. Now, for the first time, Wikonaie showed a rashness which he had not before; for dropping his gun, and drawing his hunting-knife, he went triumphantly up to the fallen monarch, and waved the keen steel above his massive antlers in token of victory.
The next instant, with a roar of startling ferocity, the moose sprang to his feet, hurling Wikonaie over on his back, right in front of him, where a single stroke from one of his tremendous forelegs would have made of the Indian a bleeding lifeless hulk.
Fortunate indeed was the presence of the dogs, Dour and Dandy, as they, realizing the crisis, sprang at the moose's head with utter fearlessness, and one of them succeeded in securing a temporary hold upon the thick neck. This bewildered the monster for a moment, and that gave Hector an opportunity, to which the boy, all of a tremble as he was, happily proved equal.
To free himself from the dogs the moose tossed his head high in the air, thereby flinging Dour to one side, but at the same time exposing in the completest way his magnificent breast. Hardly pausing to take aim, Hector fired, and the bullet went straight to the heart of the noble creature.
With a despairing bellow, almost like a great human groan, he once more sank at the foot of the tree, this time to rise no more.
How those three rejoiced over their great triumph, Baptiste claiming that his first shot had been fatal; Wikonaie proud of his little Ti-ti-pu, now a strong young brave, skilled in the chase, and a man to be feared in war: and Hector, thankful for the opportunity which had enabled him to save his Indian friend.
Late as the hour was, they decided to return to Wikonaie's tepee, where half the night was spent in extolling Ti-ti-pu's prowess and further cementing the friendship so strangely begun.
And not alone was Hector benefited, but Wikonaie was able to promise that the settlers could return unmolested to their farms in the summer, partly because of his own feeling, and partly because the North-Westers had ceased to bribe the Indians to make trouble, and they required little persuading to follow the leadership of Wikonaie, their chief.
But the settlers still had a desperately hard time of it, sometimes being reduced to no other food than the wild turnip found in great quantities in that locality, and at the end of the second summer, nearly all of them returned to Pembina for the winter.
This sort of thing went on for several years, until finally, having received further reinforcements from Lord Selkirk, they really began to take root, and a comfortable, self-sustaining settlement grew up, which in large part realized the hopes which had drawn them from the Old World to the New.
Through it all, Hector was a loyal, obedient son. He shared in all his father's toil, did his best to brighten little Ailie's play hours, and altogether bore himself with infinite credit.
None of the Scotch settlers struck deeper roots into the country than did the Macraes, but this story cannot follow them any farther. Suffice it to say, their descendants are some of the finest men and women, not to mention boys and girls, in the Canadian North-West.