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The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21697 · 421,885 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

Author: R. M. Ballantyne


        
Release date: June 6, 2007 [eBook #21697]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21697

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED MAN'S REVENGE: A TALE OF THE RED RIVER FLOOD ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Red Man's Revenge, by R.M. Ballantyne.

________________________________________________________________________

Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894.  He was
educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with
the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northen
Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848.  The letters he
had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods
life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should
construct a book based on these letters.  Three of his most enduring
books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders",
"Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences
with the HBC.  In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and
"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by
Ballantyne.  Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these
books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about.  With
these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for
teenagers.  He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,
the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph
cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the
life- boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,
ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the
lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for
weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.

He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he
encountered with great care and attention to detail.  His young readers
looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and
1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,
all very good reading.  The rate of production diminished in the last
ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.

He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for
very young children under the pseudonym "Comus".

For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what
we would nowadays call "pi".  In part that was the way people wrote in
those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red
River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little
dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how
they ought to behave, as he felt he had been.

Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages.  These books
formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less
pocket-money.  These books are particularly well-written and researched,
because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for
their money.  They were published as six series, three books in each
series.  For instance one of these series is "On the Coast", which
includes "Saved by the Lifeboat".

"The Red Man's Revenge" is very authoritatively written, because its
setting is the Red River, where Ballantyne had spent all those years in
his youth.  As so often with Ballantyne's books there are the threads of
two stories running throughout.  One of these, occupying the last
two-thirds of the book, concerns the Red River flood of May 1826, when
the river rose fourteen feet over a largely level plain, causing much
loss and annoyance to the settlers in that region, though the loss of
only one life.

The other thread concerns the kidnapping of a young white child in
revenge for a fancied insult offered to a Red Indian, Petanawaquat.
They are pursued by the boy's older brother and some other settlers, but
not found.  They return only when Petanawaquat has a change of heart,
after meditating some time on the fact that Jesus Christ gave up His
life to save the souls of those who considered themselves His enemies.

There are various acutely observed actions, such as a buffalo hunt,
various fights with bears, the tracking methods used by the pursuers,
foiled only eventually when there is a prairie fire.  We learn at this
point what to do when a prairie fire is coming straight at you, and
there appears to be no escape.

There are various canoeing incidents, and indeed much of the action
could not occur without the canoe.

Re-created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, August 2003.

________________________________________________________________________

THE RED MAN'S REVENGE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

A TALE OF THE RED RIVER FLOOD.

OPENS THE BALL.

If ever there was a man who possessed a gem in the form of a daughter of
nineteen, that man was Samuel Ravenshaw; and if ever there was a girl
who owned a bluff, jovial, fiery, hot-tempered, irascible old father,
that girl was Elsie Ravenshaw.

Although a gem, Elsie was exceedingly imperfect.  Had she been the
reverse she would not have been worth writing about.

Old Ravenshaw, as his familiars styled him, was a settler, if we may use
such a term in reference to one who was, perhaps, among the most
unsettled of men.  He had settled with his family on the banks of the
Red River.  The colony on that river is now one of the frontier towns of
Canada.  At the time we write of, it was a mere oasis in the desert, not
even an offshoot of civilisation, for it owed its existence chiefly to
the fact that retiring servants of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company
congregated there to spend the evening of life, far beyond the Canadian
boundary, in the heart of that great wilderness where they had spent
their working days, and on the borders of that grand prairie where the
red man and the buffalo roamed at will, and the conventionalities of
civilised life troubled them not.

To this haven of rest Samuel Ravenshaw had retired, after spending an
active life in the service of the fur-traders, somewhat stiffened in the
joints by age and a rough career, and a good deal soured in disposition
because of promotion having, as he thought, been too long deferred.

Besides Elsie, old Ravenshaw possessed some other gems of inferior
lustre.  His wife Maggie, a stout, well-favoured lady, with an
insufficient intellect and unbounded good humour, was of considerable
intrinsic value, but highly unpolished.  His second daughter, Cora, was
a thin slip of sixteen years, like her mother in some respects--pretty,
attractive, and disposed to take life easily.  His eldest son, Victor, a
well-grown lad of fourteen, was a rough diamond, if a diamond at all,
with a soul centred on sport.  His second son, Anthony, between five and
six, was large and robust, like his father.  Not having been polished at
that time, it is hard to say what sort of gem Tony was.  When engaged in
mischief--his besetting foible--his eyes shone like carbuncles with
unholy light.  He was the plague of the family.  Of course, therefore,
he was the beloved of his parents.

Such were the chief inmates of Willow Creek, as old Ravenshaw styled his
house and property.

It was midwinter.  The owner of Willow Creek stood at his parlour
window, smoking and gazing.  There was not much to look at, for snow had
overwhelmed and buried the landscape, fringed every twig of the willows,
and obliterated the frozen river.

Elsie was seated by the stove, embroidering a pair of moccasins.

"Victor is bringing down some of the lads to shoot to-day, father," she
said, casting a furtive glance at her sire.

"Humph! that boy does nothing but shoot," growled the old man, who was a
giant in body if not in spirit.  "Who all is he bringing?"

"There's John Flett, and David Mowat, and Sam Hayes, and Herr
Winklemann, and Ian Macdonald, and Louis Lambert--all the best shots, I
suppose," said Elsie, bending over her work.

"The best shots!" cried Mr Ravenshaw, turning from the window with a
sarcastic laugh.  "Louis Lambert, indeed, and Winklemann are crack
shots, and John Flett is not bad, but the others are poor hands.  Mowat
can only shoot straight with a crooked gun, and as for that half-cracked
schoolmaster, Jan Macdonald, he would miss a barn door at fifty paces
unless he were to shut his eyes and fire at random, in which case he'd
have some chance--"

"Here they is; the shooters is comin'.  Hooray!" shouted Master Anthony
Ravenshaw, as he burst into the room with a scalping-knife in one hand
and a wooden gun in the other.  "An' I's goin' to shoot too, daddy!"

"So you are, Tony, my boy!" cried the old trader, catching up the pride
of his heart in his strong arms and tossing him towards the ceiling.
"You shall shoot before long with a real gun."

Tony knocked the pipe out of his father's mouth, and was proceeding to
operate on his half-bald head with the scalping-knife, when Cora, who
entered the room at the moment, sprang forward and wrenched the weapon
from his grasp.

"We'll give them dinner after the shooting is over, shan't we, father?"
asked Cora.

"Of course, my dear, of course," replied the hospitable old gentleman,
giving the pride of his heart a sounding kiss as he put him down.  "Set
your mother to work on a pie, and get Miss Trim to help you with a lot
of those cakes you make so famously."

As he spoke there was a sudden clattering in the porch.  The young men
were taking off their snow-shoes and stamping the snow from off their
leggings and moccasined feet.

"Here we are, father!" cried a bright, sturdy youth, as he ushered in
his followers.  "Of course Elsie has prepared you for our sudden
invasion.  The fact is that we got up the match on the spur of the
moment, because I found that Ian had a holiday."

"No explanation required, Victor.  Glad to see you all, boys.  Sit
down," said Mr Ravenshaw, shaking hands all round.

The youths who were thus heartily welcomed presented a fine manly
appearance.  They were clad in the capotes, leggings, fur caps,
moccasins, and fingerless mittens usually worn by the men of the
settlement in winter.

That tall handsome fellow, with the curly black hair and flashing eyes,
who bears himself so confidently as he greets the sisters, is Louis
Lambert.  The thickset youth behind him, with the shock of flaxen hair
and imperceptible moustache, is Herr Winklemann, a German farmer's son,
and a famed buffalo-hunter.  The ungainly man, of twenty-four
apparently--or thereabouts--with the plain but kindly face, and the
frame nearly as strong as that of the host himself, is Ian Macdonald.
In appearance he is a rugged backwoodsman.  In reality he is the
schoolmaster of that part of the widely-scattered colony.

The invitation to sit down was not accepted.  Daylight was short-lived
in those regions at that season of the year.  They sallied forth to the
work in hand.

"You've had the target put up, Cora?" asked Victor, as he went out.

"Yes, in the old place."

"Where is Tony?"

"I don't know," said Cora, looking round.  "He was here just now, trying
to scalp father."

"You'll find him at the target before you, no doubt," said Elsie,
putting away her moccasins as she rose to aid in the household
preparations.

The target was placed against the bank of the river, so that the bullets
might find a safe retreat.  The competitors stood at about a hundred
yards' distance in front of it.  The weapons used were single-barrelled
smooth-bores, with flint locks.  Percussion locks had not at that time
come into fashion, and long ranges had not yet been dreamed of.

"Come, open the ball, Lambert," said Victor.

The handsome youth at once stepped forward, and old Mr Ravenshaw
watched him with an approving smile as he took aim.  Puff! went the
powder in the pan, but no sound followed save the peal of laughter with
which the miss-fire was greeted.  The touch-hole was pricked, and next
time the ball sped to its mark.  It hit the target two inches above the
bull's-eye.

The "well done" with which the shot was hailed was cut short by an
appalling yell, and little Tony was seen to tumble from behind the
target.  Rolling head over heels, he curled himself round in agony,
sprang up with a spasmodic bound, dropped upon his haunches, turned over
a complete somersault, fell on his back with a fearful shriek, and lay
dead upon the snow!

The whole party rushed in consternation towards the boy, but before they
had reached him he leaped up and burst into a fit of gleeful laughter,
which ended in a cheer and a savage war-whoop as he scampered up the
track which led to the house, and disappeared over the brow of the
river's bank.

"The imp was joking!" exclaimed Mr Ravenshaw, as he stopped and wiped
the cold perspiration from his brow.

At that moment a Red Indian appeared on the scene, in his blanket robe,
paint, and feathers.  Attracted by the shot, he had come to look on.
Now, the old fur-trader's nerves had received a tremendous shock, and
the practical jest which the pride of his heart had perpetrated had
roused the irascibility of his nature, so that an explosion became
unavoidable.  In these circumstances the arrival of the Indian seemed
opportune, for the old gentleman knew that this particular savage was a
chief, and had visited the colony for the purpose of making inquiries
into the new religion reported to be taught by certain white men in
black garments; and Mr Ravenshaw, besides having very little regard for
missionaries, had a very strong contempt for those Indians who became
their disciples.  He therefore relieved himself on the red man.

"What do you want here, Petawanaquat?" he demanded sternly, in the
language of the Indian.

"The Little Wolf," replied the Indian, referring to himself, for such
was the interpretation of his name, "wishes to see how his white
brothers shoot."

"Let the Little Wolf put his tail between his legs and be gone," cried
the angry old man.  "He is not wanted here.  Come, be off!"

The chief looked straight in the eyes of the trader with a dark scowl,
then, turning slowly on his heel, stalked solemnly away.

There was an irrepressible laugh at this episode as the group of
marksmen returned to their former position.  Mr Ravenshaw, however,
soon left them and returned home.  Here he found Miss Trim in a state of
considerable agitation; she had just encountered the redskin!  Miss Trim
was a poor relation of Mrs Ravenshaw.  She had been invited by her
brother-in-law to leave England and come to Red River to act as
governess to Tony and assistant-companion in the family.  She had
arrived that autumn in company with a piano, on which she was expected
to exercise Elsie and Cora.  Petawanaquat, being the first "really wild
and painted savage" she had seen, made a deep impression on her.

"Oh, Mr Ravenshaw, I have seen _such_ an object in the garden!" she
exclaimed, in a gushing torrent--she always spoke in a torrent--"and it
was all I could do to stagger into the house without fainting.  Such
eyes! with black cheeks and a red nose--at least, it looked red, but I
was in such a state that I couldn't make sure whether it was the nose or
the chin, and my shoe came off as I ran away, having broken the tie in
the morning.  And such a yell as it gave!--the creature, not the
shoe-tie--but I escaped, and peeped out of the upper window--the one in
the gable, you know, with the green blind, where you can see the garden
from end to end, and I found it had disappeared, though I can't
understand--"

"Tut, tut, Miss Trim; how you do gallop!  Was it a beast?" asked the old
trader.

"A beast?  No; a man--a savage."

"Oh!  I understand; it was that scoundrel Petawanaquat," said Sam
Ravenshaw, with a laugh; "he's Little Wolf by name, and a big thief by
practice, no doubt.  You needn't fear him, however, he's not so
dangerous as he looks, and I gave him a rebuff just now that will make
him shy of Willow Creek.--Ha, Tony, you rascal!  Come here, sir."

Tony came at once, with such a gleeful visage that his father's intended
chastisement for the recent practical joke ended in a parental caress.

Bitterly did Ian Macdonald repent of his agreeing to join the shooting
party that day.  Owing to some defect in his vision or nervous system,
he was a remarkably bad shot, though in everything else he was an expert
and stalwart backwoodsman, as well as a good scholar.  But when his
friend Victor invited him he could not refuse, because it offered him an
opportunity of spending some time in the society of Elsie Ravenshaw, and
that to him was heaven upon earth!  Little of her society, however, did
the unfortunate teacher enjoy that day, for handsome Louis Lambert
engrossed not only Elsie, but the mother and father as well.  He had
beaten all his competitors at the target, but, to do him justice, did
not boast of that; neither did he make any reference to the fact that
Ian had twice missed the target, though he did not spare the bad
shooting of some of the other youths; this, no doubt, because he and Ian
had been fast friends for many years.  Jealousy--at least on the part of
Ian--now seemed about to interfere with the old friendship.  Moreover,
Lambert had brought to Mrs Ravenshaw a gift of a collar made of the
claws of a grizzly bear, shot by himself in the Rocky Mountains.  Elsie
admired the collar with genuine interest, and said she would give
anything to possess one like it.  Cora, with the coquettishness of
sixteen, said, with a laugh and a blush, that she would not accept such
a ridiculous thing if it were offered to her.  Ian Macdonald groaned in
spirit, for, with his incapacity to shoot, he knew that Elsie's wish
could never be gratified by _him_.

Seeing that Lambert was bent on keeping Elsie as much as possible to
himself, Ian devoted himself to Cora, but Cora was cross.  Feeling it
up-hill work, he soon rose to say good-bye, and left Willow Creek before
the others.

"Don't look so crestfallen, man," said old Mr Ravenshaw heartily, as he
shook hands; "it's nobler work to teach the young idea how to shoot than
to be able to hit a bull's-eye."

"True, but he who cannot hit a bull's-eye," returned Ian, with a smile,
"can scarcely be expected to touch a maiden's--I mean a grizzly's
heart."

A shout of laughter from Lambert greeted him as he left the house.  His
way home lay over the frozen bed of the river.  Victor accompanied him
part of the way.

"That was a strange slip for an unromantic fellow like you to make about
a maiden's heart, Ian," said Victor, looking up at the rugged
countenance of his friend.

"`Unromantic,' eh?  Well, I suppose I am."

"Of course you are," said Victor, with the overweening assurance of
youth.  "Come, let's sit down here for a few minutes and discuss the
point."

He sat down on a snowdrift; Ian kicked off his snowshoes and leaned
against the bank.

"You're the most grave, sensible, good-natured, matter-of-fact,
unsentimental, unselfish fellow I ever met with," resumed Victor.  "If
you were a romantic goose I wouldn't like you half as much as I do."

"Men are sometimes romantic without being geese," returned Ian; "but I
have not time to discuss that point just now.  Tell me, for I am anxious
about it, have you spoken to your father about selling the field with
the knoll to my father?"

"Yes, and he flatly refused to sell it.  I'm really sorry, Ian, but you
know how determined my father is.  Once he says a thing he sticks to it,
even though it should be to his own disadvantage."

"That's bad, Victor, very bad.  It will raise ill-blood between them,
and estrange our families.  You think there's no chance?"

"None whatever."

"One more word before we part.  Do you know much about that redskin whom
your father called Petawanaquat?"

"Not much, except that he has come from a considerable distance to make
inquiries, he says, about the Christian religion.  He has been prowling
about our place for a few days, and father, who has no great love to
missionaries, and has strong suspicions of converted Indians, has twice
treated him rather roughly."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Victor.  These fellows are sometimes very
revengeful.  If you'll be advised by me you'll keep a sharp eye upon
Petawanaquat.  There, I'll say no more.  You know I'm not an alarmist.
Good-bye."

"Good-bye, old boy."

"I say."

"Well?"

"It was an _awfully_ bad shot, that last of mine."

"It was," admitted Victor, with a laugh, "to miss a thing as big as a
door at a hundred yards is only so-so."

"No chance of improvement, I fear," said Ian, with a sigh.

"Oh, don't say that," replied Victor.  "Practice, perseverance, and
patience, you know, overcome every--"

"Yes, yes.  I know that well.  Good-bye."  They shook hands again, and
were soon striding over the snow to their respective homes.



CHAPTER TWO.

CONFLICTING ELEMENTS AND A CATASTROPHE.

Hoary winter passed away, and genial spring returned to rejoice the
land.

In a particularly amiable frame of mind, old Ravenshaw went out one
morning to smoke.

Everything had gone well that morning.  Breakfast had been punctual;
appetite good; rheumatics in abeyance; the girls lively; and Miss Trim
less of a torrent than was her wont.  Mrs Ravenshaw's intellect had
more than once almost risen to the ordinary human average, and Master
Tony had been better--perhaps it were more correct to say less wicked--
than usual.

Old Ravenshaw was what his friends styled a heavy smoker, so was his
kitchen chimney; but then the chimney had the excuse of being compelled
to smoke, whereas its owner's insane act was voluntary.

Be not afraid, reader.  We have no intention of entering into an
argument with smokers.  They are a pigheaded generation.  We address
those who have not yet become monomaniacs as regards tobacco.

In order to the full enjoyment of his pipe, the old gentleman had built
on a knoll what Elsie styled a summer-house.  Regardless of seasons,
however--as he was of most things--her father used this temple at all
seasons of the year, and preferred to call it a smoking box.  Now, as
this smoking-box, with its surroundings, had much to do with the issues
of our story, we bring it under particular notice.  It resembled a large
sentry-box, and the willow-clad knoll on which it stood was close to the
river.  Being elevated slightly above the rest of the country, a
somewhat extended view of river and plain was obtainable therefrom.
Samuel Ravenshaw loved to contemplate this view through the medium of
smoke.  Thus seen it was hazy and in accord with his own idea of most
things.  The sun shone warmly into the smoking-box.  It sparkled on the
myriad dew-drops that hung on the willows, and swept in golden glory
over the rolling plains.  The old gentleman sat down, puffed, and was
happy.  The narcotic influence operated, and the irascible demon in his
breast fell sound asleep.

How often do bright sunshine and profound calm precede a storm?  Is not
that a truism--if not a newism.  The old gentleman had barely reduced
himself to quiescence, and the demon had only just begun to snore, when
a cloud, no bigger than a man's body, arose on the horizon.  Gradually
it drew near, partially obscured the sky, and overshadowed the
smoking-box in the form of Angus Macdonald, the father of Ian.  (The
demon ceased snoring!)

"Coot tay to you, sir," said Angus.  "You will pe enchoyin' your pipe
this fine mornin'."

"Yes, Angus, I am," replied Ravenshaw, with as much urbanity as he could
assume--and it wasn't much, for he suspected the cause of his
neighbour's visit--"you'd better sit down and light your own."

Angus accepted the invitation, and proceeded to load with much
deliberation.

Now it must be known that the Highlander loved the view from that knoll
as much as did his neighbour.  It reminded him of the old country where
he had been born and bred on a hill-top.  He coveted that willow knoll
intensely, desiring to build a house on it, and, being prosperous, was
willing to give for it more than its value, for his present dwelling lay
somewhat awkwardly in the creek, a little higher up the river, so that
the willows on the knoll interfered vexatiously with his view.

"It's a peautiful spote this!" observed Angus, after a few preliminary
puffs.

"It is," answered the old trader curtly, (and the demon awoke).

Angus made no rejoinder for a few minutes, but continued to puff great
clouds with considerable emphasis from his compressed lips.  Mr
Ravenshaw returned the fire with interest.

"It'll no pe for sellin' the knowl, ye are?" said Angus.

The demon was fairly roused now.

"No, Angus Macdonald," said the trader sternly, "I'll _not_ sell it.
I've told you already more than once, and it is worse than ill-judged,
it is impertinent of you to come bothering me to part with my land."

"Ho! inteed!" exclaimed Angus, rising in wrath, and cramming his pipe
into his vest pocket; "it is herself that will pe pothering you no more
spout your dirty land, Samyool Ruvnshaw."

He strode from the spot with a look of ineffable scorn, and the air of
an offended chieftain.

Old Ravenshaw tried to resume his tranquillity, but the demon was
self-willed, and tobacco had lost its power.  There were more clouds,
however, in store for him that morning.

It so fell out that Ian Macdonald, unable to bear the suspense of
uncertainty any longer, and all ignorant of his father's visit to the
old trader, had made up his mind to bring things to a point that very
morning by formally asking permission to pay his addresses to Elsie
Ravenshaw.  Knowing the old man's habits, he went straight to the
smoking-box.  If he had set out half an hour sooner he would have met
his own father and saved himself trouble.  As it was, they missed each
other.

Mr Ravenshaw had only begun to feel slightly calmed when Ian presented
himself, with a humble, propitiatory air.  The old man hated humility in
every form, even its name.  He regarded it as a synonym for hypocrisy.
The demon actually leaped within him, but the old man had a powerful
will.  He seized his spiritual enemy, throttled, and held him down.

"Good-morning, Mr Ravenshaw."

"Good-morning."

Nothing more was said by either for a few minutes.  Ian was embarrassed.
He had got up a set speech and forgotten it.  He was shy, but he was
also resolute.  Drawing himself up suddenly he said, with an earnest,
honest look, "Mr Ravenshaw, I love your daughter," (there was only one
daughter in Ian's estimation!) "and I come to ask leave to woo her.  If,
by earnest devotion and--"

"Ian Macdonald," interrupted the old gentleman, in a voice of suppressed
anger, "you may save yourself and me the trouble of more talk on this
subject.  Your father has just been here wanting me to sell him this
knoll.  Now, look here," (he rose, and stepping out of the smoking-box,
pointed to Angus Macdonald's house, which was full in view), "you see
that house, young man.  Mark what I say.  I will sell this knoll to your
father, and give my daughter to you, when you take that house, and with
your own unaided hands place it on the top of this knoll!"

This was meant by the old trader as a bitterly facetious way of
indicating the absolute hopelessness of the case.  Ian accepted it in
that light, for he was well aware that Samuel Ravenshaw's firmness--or
obstinacy--was insurmountable.  He did not despair, however; true love
never does that; but he felt tremendously cast down.  Without a word or
look of reproach he turned and walked slowly away.

Once again the old trader sought comfort in his pipe, but found none.
Besides feeling extremely indignant; with the Macdonalds, father and
son, for what he styled their presumption, he was now conscious of
having treated both with undue severity.  Dashing his pipe on the
ground, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets, and returned towards
his dwelling.  On the way he unfortunately met Petawanaquat in one of
his fields, leaning composedly over a gate.  That intelligent redskin
had not yet finished his inquiries at the missionary village.  He had
appeared more than once at Willow Creek, and seemed to hover round the
old trader like a moth round a candle.  The man was innocent of any evil
intent on this occasion, but Ravenshaw would have quarrelled with an
angel just then.

"What are you doing here?  Be off!" he said sternly.

The Indian either did not or would not understand, and the old man,
seizing him by the arm, thrust him violently through the gateway.

All the hot blood of the Petawanaquats, from Adam downwards, seemed to
leap through the red man's veins and concentrate in his right hand as he
turned fiercely on the trader and drew his scalping-knife.  Quick as
lightning Ravenshaw hit out with his fist, and knocked the Indian down,
then, turning on his heel, walked away.

For a moment Petawanaquat lay stunned.  Recovering, he arose, and his
dark glittering eyes told of a purpose of deadly revenge.  The trader
was still in sight.  The Indian picked up his gun, glided swiftly behind
a tree, and took a long steady aim.  Just then little Tony rushed from
the house and leaped into his father's arms, where he received an
unusually warm embrace, for the trader wanted some sort of relief for
his feelings.  The Indian's finger was pressing the trigger at the
moment.  Death was very near Samuel Ravenshaw just then, but the finger
relaxed and the gun was lowered.  A more terrible form of revenge had
flashed into the mind of the savage.  Gliding quietly from his position,
he entered the willows and disappeared.

Meanwhile Angus Macdonald returned in no very amiable mood to his own
house.  It was a small house; had been built by its owner, and was, like
most of the other houses of the colony at that time, a good solid log
structure--a sort of Noah's ark on a small scale.  It stood on a flat
piece of mother earth, without any special foundation except a massive
oblong wooden frame to which all the superstructure was attached.  You
might, if strong enough, have grasped it by the ridge-pole and carried
it bodily away without tearing up any foundation or deranging the
fabric.  It was kept in order and managed by an elderly sister of Angus,
named Martha, for Angus was a widower.  His only son Ian dwelt in the
school-house, a mile farther up the river.

Martha's strong point was fowls.  We are too ignorant of that subject to
go into particulars.  We can only say that she was an adept at fowls.
Martha's chickens were always tender and fat, and their eggs were the
largest and freshest in Red River.  We introduce these fowls solely
because one of them acted a very important part on a very critical
occasion.  As well might the geese who saved Rome be omitted from
history as Martha Macdonald's Cochin-China hen which--well, we won't say
what just yet.  That hen was frightfully plain.  Why Cochin-China hens
should have such long legs and wear feather trousers are questions which
naturalists must settle among themselves.  Being a humorous man, Angus
had named her Beauty.  She was a very cross hen, and her feather
unmentionables fitted badly.  Moreover, she was utterly useless, and
never laid an egg, which was fortunate, for if she had laid one it would
have been an egregious monstrosity.  She was obviously tough.  If they
had slain her for the table they would have had to cut her up with a
hand-saw, or grind her into meal to fit her for use.  Besides all this,
Beauty was a widow.  When her husband died--probably of disgust--she
took to crowing on her own account.  She received Angus with a crow when
he entered the house after his interview with Ravenshaw, and appeared to
listen intently as he poured his sorrows into his sister's ear.

"It's up at the knowl I've peen, Martha, an' I left Samyool Ruvnshaw
there in a fery pad temper--fery pad inteed.  He'll come oot of it,
whatever."

"An' he'll not be for sellin' you the knowl?" asked Martha.

"No, he won't," replied Angus.

From this point they went off into a very long-winded discussion of the
pros and cons of the case, which, however, we will spare the reader, and
return to Willow Creek.  The bed of the creek, near to the point where
it joined the Red River, was a favourite resort of Master Tony.  Thither
he went that same afternoon to play.

Having observed the child's habits, Petawanaquat paddled his canoe to
the same point and hid it and himself among the overhanging bushes of
the creek.  In the course of his gambols Tony approached the place.  One
stroke of the paddle sent the light birch-bark canoe like an arrow
across the stream.  The Indian sprang on shore.  Tony gave him one
scared look and was about to utter an appalling yell, when a red hand
covered his mouth and another red hand half throttled him.

Petawanaquat bundled the poor child into the bottom of his canoe,
wrapped a leather coat round his head, spread a buffalo robe over him,
gave him a smart rap on the head to keep him quiet, and paddled easily
out into the stream.  Steadily, but not too swiftly, he went down the
river, down the rapids, and past the Indian settlement without
attracting particular notice.  Once the buffalo robe moved; the paddle
descended on it with a sounding whack, and it did not move again.
Before night closed, the Indian was paddling over the broad bosom of
Lake Winnipeg.

Of course, Tony was soon missed; his haunts were well known; Miss Trim
traced his footprints to the place where he had been seized, saw
evidences of the struggle, the nature of which she correctly guessed,
and came shrieking back to the house, where she went off into hysterics,
and was unable to tell anything about the matter.

Fortunately, Victor was there; he also traced the footsteps.  Instead of
returning home he ran straight to the school-house, which he reached out
of breath.

"Come, Ian, come!" he gasped.  "Tony's been carried off--Petawanaquat!
Bring your canoe and gun; all the ammunition you can lay hands on!"

Ian asked for no explanations; he ran into the house, shouldered a small
bag of pemmican, gave his gun and ammunition to Victor, told his
assistant to keep the school going till his return, and ran with his
friend down to the river, where his own birch canoe lay on the bank.

A few minutes sufficed to launch it.  Both Ian and Victor were expert
canoe-men.  Straining their powers to the utmost, they were soon far
down the Red River, in hot pursuit of the fugitive.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE PURSUIT BEGINS.

There is something delightfully exhilarating in a chase, whether it be
after man or beast.  How the blood careers!  How the nerves tingle!  But
you know all about it, reader.  We have said sufficient.

There was enough of righteous indignation in Victor's bosom to have
consumed Petawanaquat, and ground enough to justify the fiercest
resolves.  Was not the kidnapper a redskin--a low, mean, contemptible
savage?  Was not the kidnapped one his brother--his "own" brother?  And
such a brother!  One of a thousand, with mischief enough in him, if
rightly directed, to make half a dozen ordinary men!  The nature of the
spirit which animated Victor was obvious on his compressed lips, his
frowning brows, his gleaming eyes.  The strength of his muscles was
indicated by the foam that fled from his paddle.

Ian Macdonald was not less excited, but more under self-control than his
friend.  There was a fixed look in his plain but pleasant face, and a
tremendous sweep in his long arms as he plied the paddle, that told of
unfathomed energy.  The canoe being a mere egg-shell, leaped forward at
each quick stroke "like a thing of life."

There was no time to lose.  They knew that, for the Indian had probably
got a good start of them, and, being a powerful man, animated by the
certainty of pursuit sooner or later, would not only put his strength
but his endurance to the test.  If they were to overtake him it must be
by superhuman exertion.  Lake Winnipeg was twenty miles off.  They must
catch up the Indian before he reached it, as otherwise it would be
impossible to tell in which direction he had gone.

They did not pause to make inquiries of the settlers on the banks by the
way, but they hailed several canoes, whose occupants said they had seen
the Indian going quietly down stream some hours before--alone in his
canoe!

"Never mind, Vic, push on," said Ian; "of course he would make Tony lie
flat down."

The end of the settlement was passed, and they swept on into the
wilderness beyond.  Warming to their work, they continued to paddle hour
after hour--steadily, persistently, with clockwork regularity of stroke,
but never decreasing force.  To save time they, as it were, cut off
corners at the river-bends, and just shaved the points as they went by.

"Have a care, Ian!" exclaimed Victor, at one of these places, as his
paddle touched the bottom.  "We don't draw much water, to be sure, but a
big stone might--hah!"

A roar of dismay burst from the youth and his companion as the canoe
rasped over a stone.

We have said that the birch canoe was an egg-shell.  The word is
scarcely figurative.  The slightest touch over a stone has a tendency to
rip the bark of such a slender craft, or break off the resinous gum with
which the seams are pitched.  Water began to pour in.

"Too bad!" exclaimed Victor, flinging his paddle ashore, as he stepped
over the side into water not much above his ankles, and pulled the canoe
slowly to land.

"An illustration of the proverb, `The more haste the less speed,'"
sighed Ian, as he stepped into the water and assisted in lifting the
canoe tenderly to dry ground.

"Oh, it's all very well for you to take it philosophically, but you know
our chance is gone.  If it was _your_ brother we were after you wouldn't
be so cool."

"He is Elsie's brother," replied Ian, "and that makes me quite as keen
as if he were my own, besides keeping me cool.  Come, Vic, don't be
cross, but light the fire and get out the gum."

While he spoke Ian was actively untying a bundle which contained awls
and wattape, a small pliable root, with which to repair the injury.  The
gum had to be melted, so that Victor found some relief to his feelings
in kindling a fire.  The break was not a bad one.  With nimble fingers
Ian sewed a patch of bark over it.  While that was being done, Victor
struck a light with flint and steel, and soon had a blazing firebrand
ready.

"Hand it here, Vic," said Ian.

He covered the stitches with melted gum, blew the charcoal red-hot,
passed it here and there over the old seams where they exhibited signs
of leakage, and in little more than half an hour had the canoe as tight
as a bottle.  Once more they embarked and drove her like an arrow down
stream.

But precious time had been lost, and it was dark when they passed from
the river and rested on the bosom of the mighty fresh-water sea.

"It's of no use going on without knowing which shore the redskin has
followed," said Ian, as he suddenly ceased work and rested his paddle on
the gunwale.

"It's of no use to remain where we are," replied the impatient Victor,
looking back at his comrade.

"Yes, it is," returned Ian, "the moon will rise in an hour or so and
enable us to make observations; meanwhile we can rest.  Sooner or later
we shall be compelled to rest.  It will be a wise economy of time to do
so now when nothing else can be done."

Victor was so tired and sleepy by that time that he could scarcely
reply.  Ian laughed quietly, and shoved the canoe among some reeds,
where it lay on a soft bed.  At the same time he advised his companion
to go to sleep without delay.

More than half asleep already, he obeyed in silence, waded to the shore,
and sat down on a bank to take off his moccasins.  In this position and
act he fell asleep.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Ian, coming up with the paddles and pemmican bag;
"too soon, Vic, too soon, lad," (he tumbled him over on the bank);
"come, one mouthful of grub first, then off with the moccasins, and down
we go."

Victor picked himself up with a yawn.  On ordinary occasions a
backwoodsman pays some little attention to the comforts of his
encampment, but our heroes were in no condition to mind such trifles.
They pulled off their wet moccasins, indeed, and put on dry ones, but
having done that they merely groped in the dark for the flattest piece
of ground in the neighbourhood, then each rolled himself in his blanket
and lay, or rather fell, down.

"Hah!" gasped Victor.

"Wa's wrong?" sighed Ian faintly.

"Put m' shoulder 'n a puddle, 'at's all," lisped Victor.

"T'ke't out o' the purl, then--oh!" groaned Ian.

"W'as 'e marrer now, eh?" sighed Victor.

"On'y a big stone i' m' ribs."

"Shove't out o' y'r ribs 'en an' 'old y'r tongue."

Profound slumber stopped the conversation at this point, and the frogs
that croaked and whistled in the swamps had it all to themselves.

Deep tranquillity reigned on the shores of Lake Winnipeg during the
midnight hours, for the voices of the frogs served rather to accent than
to disturb the calm.  Stars twinkled at their reflections in the water,
which extended like a black mirror to the horizon.  They gave out little
light, however, and it was not until the upper edge of the full moon
arose that surrounding objects became dimly visible.  The pale light
edged the canoe, silvered the rocks, tipped the rushes, and at last,
touching the point of Ian's upturned nose, awoke him.  (See
Frontispiece).

He leaped up with a start instantly, conscious of his situation, and
afraid lest he had slept too long.

"Hi! leve! leve! awake! up!" he exclaimed in a vigorous undertone.

Victor growled, turned on his other side with a deep sigh, wanted to be
let alone, became suddenly conscious, and sprang up in alarm.

"We're too late!"

"No, we're not, Vic.  The moon is just rising, but we must be stirring.
Time's precious."

Victor required no urging.  He was fully alive to the situation.  A few
minutes sufficed to get the canoe ready and roll up their blankets,
during the performance of which operations they each ate several
substantial mouthfuls of pemmican.

Looking carefully round before pushing off the canoe to see that nothing
was forgotten, Ian observed some chips of wood on the beach close at
hand.

"See, Vic!" he said eagerly; "some one has been here--perhaps the
Indian."

They examined the chips, which had been recently cut.  "It's not easy to
make out footprints here," said Ian, going down on his knees the better
to observe the ground; "and so many settlers and Indians pass from time
to time, having little boys with them too, that--.  I say, look here,
Vic, this little footmark might or might not be Tony's, but moccasins
are so much alike that--"

"Out o' the light, man; if you were made o' glass the moon _might_ get
through you.  Why, yes, it _is_ Tony's moccasin!" cried Victor, in eager
excitement.  "I know it by the patch, for I saw Elsie putting it on this
very morning.  Look, speak, man! don't you see it?  A square patch on
the ball of the right foot!"

"Yes, yes; I see it," said Ian, going down on his knees in a spirit of
semi-worship, and putting his nose close to the ground.

He would fain have kissed the spot that had been pressed by a patch put
on by Elsie, but he was "unromantic," and refrained.

"Now," he said, springing up with alacrity, "that settles the question.
At least it shows that there is strong probability of their having taken
the left shore of the lake."

"Come along, then, let's after them," cried Victor impatiently, pushing
off the canoe.

The moment she floated--which she did in about four inches of water--
they stepped swiftly yet gently into her; for bark canoes require tender
treatment at all times, even when urgent speed is needful.  Gliding into
deep water, they once more dipped their paddles, deep and fast, and
danced merrily over the moonlit sea--for a sea Lake Winnipeg certainly
is, being upwards of three hundred miles long, and a gathering together
of many waters from all parts of the vast wilderness of Rupert's Land.

After two hours of steady work they paused to rest.

"Now, Ian," said Victor, leaning against the wooden bar at his back, and
resting his paddle across the canoe, "Venus tells me that the sun is
about to bestir himself, and something within me tells me that empty
space is a bad stomachic; so, out with the pemmican bag, and hand over a
junk."

Ian drew his hunting-knife, struck it into the mass of meat, and chipped
off a piece the size of his fist, which he handed to his comrade.

Probably our readers are aware that pemmican is made of dried buffalo
meat pounded to shreds and mixed with melted fat.  Being thus
half-cooked in the making, it can be used with or without further
cookery.  Sewed up in its bag, it will keep good for months, or even
years, and is magnificent eating, but requires a strong digestion.  Ian
and Victor were gifted with that requisite.  They fed luxuriously.  A
draught from the crystal lake went down their unsophisticated throats
like nectar, and they resumed their paddles like giants refreshed.

Venus mounted like a miniature moon into the glorious blue.  Her perfect
image went off in the opposite direction, for there was not the ghost of
a zephyr to ruffle the deep.  Presently the sun followed in her wake,
and scattered the battalions of cloudland with artillery of molten gold.
Little white gulls, with red legs and beaks, came dipping over the
water, solemnly wondering at the intruders.  The morning mists rolling
along before the resistless monarch of day confused the visible world
for a time, so that between refraction and reflection and buoyant
spirits Victor Ravenshaw felt that at last he had found the realms of
fairyland, and a feeling of certainty that he should soon rescue his
brother filled him with exultation.

But the exultation was premature.  Noon found them toiling on, and still
no trace of the fugitives was to be seen.

"What if we have overshot them?" said Victor.

"Impossible," answered Ian, "the shore is too open for that, and I have
been keeping a sharp look-out at every bend and bay."

"That may be true, yet Petawanaquat may have kept a sharper look-out,
and concealed himself when he saw us coming.  See, here is a creek.  He
may have gone up that.  Let us try.  Why! there _is_ a canoe in it.
Hup! drive along, Ian!"

The canoe seemed to leap out of the water under the double impulse, and
next moment almost ran down another canoe which was half hidden among
the reeds.  In it sat an old Indian named Peegwish, and a lively young
French half-breed named Michel Rollin.  They were both well known to our
adventurers; old Peegwish--whose chief characteristic was owlishness--
being a frequent and welcome visitor at the house of Ian's father.

"You 'pears to be in one grand hurray," exclaimed Rollin, in his broken
English.

Ian at once told the cause of their appearance there, and asked if they
had seen anything of Petawanaquat.

"Yes, oui, no--dat is to say.  Look 'ere!"

Rollin pushed the reeds aside with his paddle, and pointed to a canoe
lying bottom up, as if it had been concealed there.

"Ve's be come 'ere after duck, an' ve find dat," said the half-breed.

An immediate investigation showed that Petawanaquat had forsaken his
canoe and taken to the woods.  Ian looked troubled.  Peegwish opened his
owlish eyes and looked so solemn that Victor could scarce forbear
laughing, despite the circumstances.  It was immediately resolved to
give chase.  Peegwish was left in charge of the canoes.  The other three
soon found the track of the Red Man and followed it up like
blood-hounds.  At first they had no difficulty in following the trail,
being almost as expert as Indians in woodcraft, but soon they came to
swampy ground, and then to stony places, in which they utterly lost it.
Again and again did they go back to pick up the lost trail, and follow
it only to lose it again.

Thus they spent the remainder of that day until night put a stop to
their exertions and crushed their hopes.  Then, dispirited and weary,
they returned to the canoes and encamped beside them.

Peegwish was engaged in roasting a duck when they arrived.

"What a difference between the evening and the morning," said Victor, as
he flung himself down beside the fire.

"Dat is troo, an' vat I has obsarve oftin," said Rollin, looking
earnestly into a kettle which rested on the fire.

"Never mind, Vic," said Ian heartily, "we'll be at it again to-morrow,
bright and early.  We're sure to succeed in the long-run.  Petawanaquat
can't travel at night in the woods any more than we can."

Old Peegwish glared at the fire as though he were pondering these
sayings deeply.  As he understood little or no English, however, it is
more probable that his astute mind was concentrated on the roasting
duck.



CHAPTER FOUR.

A DISCOVERY--THE CHASE CONTINUED ON FOOT.

To bound from the depths of despair to the pinnacles of hope is by no
means an uncommon experience to vigorous youth.  When Victor Ravenshaw
awoke next morning after a profound and refreshing sleep, and looked up
through the branches at the bright sky, despondency fled, and he felt
ready for anything.  He was early awake, but Peegwish had evidently been
up long before him, for that wrinkled old savage had kindled the fire,
and was seated on the other side of it wrapped in his blanket, smoking,
and watching the preparation of breakfast.  When Victor contemplated his
solemn eyes glaring at a roasting duck, which suggested the idea that he
had been sitting there and glaring all night, he burst into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Come, I say, Vic," said Ian, roused by this from a comfortable nap, "if
you were a hyena there might be some excuse for you, but being only a
man--forgive me, a boy--you ought to have more sense than to disturb
your friends so."

"Oui, yes; dat is troo.  Vraiment, it is too bad," growled Rollin,
sitting up and stretching himself.  "Howsomewhatever, it is time to
rise.  Oui!"

"I should think it was," retorted Victor; "the sun is already up, and
you may be sure that Petawanaquat has tramped some miles this morning.
Come, Peegwish, close your eyes a bit for fear they jump out.  What have
you got to give us, eh?  Robbiboo, ducks, and--no, is it tea?  Well, we
_are_ in luck to have fallen in with you."

He rested his head on his hand, and lay looking at the savage with a
pleased expression, while Rollin rose and went off to cut more firewood.

The robbiboo referred to was a sort of thick soup made of pemmican
boiled with flour.  Without loss of time the party applied themselves to
it.  When appetite was partially appeased Ian propounded the question,
What was to be done?

"Follow up the trail as fast as we can," said Victor promptly.

"Dat is bon advise," observed Rollin.  "Hand over de duck, Peegvish, an'
do try for shut your eyes.  If you vould only vink it vould seem more
comfortabler."

Peegwish did not smile, but with deepened gravity passed the duck.

"I'm not so sure of the goodness of the advice," said Ian.  "To go
scampering into the woods on a chase that may lead us we know not where
or how long, with only a small quantity of provisions and ammunition,
and but one gun, may seem energetic and daring, but it may not, perhaps,
be wise."

Victor admitted that there was truth in that, and looked perplexed.

"Nevertheless, to give up at this point, and return to the settlement
for supplies," he said, "would be to lose the advantage of our quick
start.  How are we to get over the difficulty?"

"Moi, I can you git out of de difficulty," said Rollin, lighting his
pipe with a business air.  "Dis be de vay.  Peegvish et me is out for
long hunt vid much pemmican, poodre an' shote.  You make von 'greement
vid me et Peegvish.  You vill engage me; I vill go vid you.  You can
take vat you vill of our tings, and send Peegvish back to de settlement
for tell fat ye bees do."

This plan, after brief but earnest consideration, was adopted.  The old
Indian returned to Willow Creek with pencil notes, written on birch
bark, to old Samuel Ravenshaw and Angus Macdonald, and the other three
of the party set off at once to renew the chase on foot, with blankets
and food strapped to their backs and guns on their shoulders--for Rollin
carried his own fowling-piece, and Victor had borrowed that of Peegwish.

As happened the previous day, they failed several times to find the
trail of the fugitives, but at last Ian discovered it, and they pushed
forward with renewed hope.  The faint footmarks at first led them deep
into the woods, where it was difficult to force a passage; then the
trail disappeared altogether on the banks of a little stream.  But the
pursuers were too experienced to be thrown off the scent by such a
well-known device as walking up stream in the water.  They followed the
brook until they came to the place where Petawanaquat had once more
betaken himself to dry land.  It was a well-chosen spot; hard and rocky
ground, on which only slight impressions could be left, and the wily
savage had taken care to step so as to leave as slight a trail as
possible; but the pursuers had sharp and trained eyes.  Ian Macdonald,
in particular, having spent much of his time as a hunter before setting
up his school, had the eyes of a lynx.  He could distinguish marks when
his companions could see nothing until they were pointed out, and
although frequently at fault, he never failed to recover the trail
sooner or later.

Of course they lost much time, and they knew that Petawanaquat must be
rapidly increasing the distance between them, but they trusted to his
travelling more leisurely when he felt secure from pursuit, and to his
being delayed somewhat by Tony, whom it was obvious he had carried for
long distances at a stretch.

For several days the pursuers went on with unflagging perseverance and
ever-increasing hope, until they at last emerged from the woods, and
began to traverse the great prairie.  Here the trail diverged for a
considerable distance southward, and then turned sharply to the west, in
which direction it went in a straight line for many miles, as if
Petawanaquat had made up his mind to cross the Rocky Mountains, and
throw poor Tony into the Pacific!

The travellers saw plenty of game--ducks, geese, plover, prairie-hens,
antelopes, etcetera,--on the march, but they were too eager in the
pursuit of the savage to be turned aside by smaller game.  They merely
shot a few ducks to save their pemmican.  At last they came to a point
in the prairie which occasioned them great perplexity of mind and
depression of spirit.

It was on the evening of a bright and beautiful day--one of those days
in which the air seems fresher and the sky bluer, and the sun more
brilliant than usual.  They had found, that evening, that the trail led
them away to the right towards one of the numerous clumps of woodland
which rendered that part of the prairie more like a nobleman's park than
a wild wilderness.

On entering the bushes they perceived that there was a lakelet embosomed
like a gem in the surrounding trees.  Passing through the belt of
woodland they stood on the margin of the little lake.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Ian, with a flush of pleasure on his sunburnt
face.  "Just like a bit of Paradise."

"Did you ever see Paradise, that you know so well what it is like?"
asked Victor of his unromantic friend.

"Yes, Vic, I've seen it many a time--in imagination."

"Indeed, and what like was it, and what sort of people were there?"

"It was like--let me see--the most glorious scene ever beheld on earth,
but more exquisite, and the sun that lighted it was more brilliant by
far than ours."

"Not bad, for an unromantic imagination," said Victor, with much
gravity.  "Were there any ducks and geese there?"

"Yes, ducks; plenty of them, but no _geese_; and nobler game--even lions
were there, so tame that little children could lead them."

"Better and better," said Victor; "and what of the people?"

Ian was on the point of saying that they were all--men, women, and
children--the exact counterparts of Elsie Ravenshaw, but he checked
himself and said that they were all honest, sincere, kind, gentle,
upright, and that there was not a single cynical person there, nor a--

"Hush! what sort of a bird is that?" interrupted Victor, laying his hand
on Ian's arm and pointing to a small patch of reeds in the lake.

There were so many birds of various kinds gambolling on the surface,
that Ian had difficulty in distinguishing the creature referred to.  At
last he perceived it, a curious fat-bodied little bird with a pair of
preposterously long legs, which stood eyeing its companions as if in
contemplative pity.

"I know it not," said Ian; "never saw it before."

"We'll bag it now.  Stand back," said Victor, raising his gun.

The above conversation had been carried on in a low tone, for the
friends were still concealed by a bush from the various and numerous
birds which disported themselves on the lake in fancied security and
real felicity.

The crash of Victor's gun sent them screaming over the tree-tops--all
save the fat creature with the long legs, which now lay dead on the
water.

"Go in for it, Rollin, it's not deep, I think," said Victor.

"Troo, but it may be dangeroose for all dat," replied the half-breed,
leaning his gun against a tree.  "Howsomewhatever I vill try!"

The place turned out, as he had suspected, to be somewhat treacherous,
with a floating bottom.  Before he had waded half way to the dead bird
the ground began to sink under him.  Presently he threw up his arms,
went right down, and disappeared.

Both Ian and Victor started forward with the intention of plunging into
the water, but they had not reached the edge when Rollin reappeared,
blowing like a grampus.  They soon saw that he could swim, and allowed
him to scramble ashore.

This misadventure did not prevent them from making further attempts to
secure the bird, which Victor, having some sort of naturalistic
propensities, was eager to possess.  It was on going round the margin of
the lake for this purpose that they came upon the cause of the
perplexities before mentioned.  On the other side of a point covered
with thick bush they came upon the remains of a large Indian camp, which
had evidently been occupied very recently.  Indeed, the ashes of some of
the fires, Rollin declared, were still warm; but it was probably
Rollin's imagination which warmed them.  It was found, too, that the
trail of Petawanaquat entered this camp, and was there utterly lost in
the confusion of tracks made everywhere by many feet, both large and
small.

Here, then, was sufficient ground for anxiety.  If the savage had joined
this band and gone away with it, the pursuers could of course follow him
up, but, in the event of their finding him among friends, there seemed
little or no probability of their being able to rescue the stolen child.
On the other hand, if Petawanaquat had left the Indians and continued
his journey alone, the great difficulty that lay before them was to find
his point of departure from a band which would naturally send out
hunters right and left as they marched along.

"It's a blue look-out any way you take it," remarked poor Victor, with
an expression worthy of Peegwish on his countenance.

"I vish it vas blue.  It is black," said Rollin.

Ian replied to both remarks by saying that, whether black or blue, they
must make the best of it, and set about doing that at once.  To do his
desponding comrades justice, they were quite ready for vigorous action
in any form, notwithstanding their despair.

Accordingly, they followed the broad trail of the Indians into the
prairie a short way, and, separating in different directions round its
margins, carefully examined and followed up the tracks that diverged
from it for considerable distances, but without discovering the print of
the little moccasin with Elsie's patch, or the larger footprint of
Tony's captor.

"You see, there are so many footprints, some like and some unlike, and
they cross and recross each other to such an extent that it seems to me
a hopeless case altogether," said Victor.

"You don't propose to give it up, do you?" asked Ian.

"Give it up!" repeated Victor, almost fiercely.  "Give up Tony?  NO! not
as long as I can walk, or even crawl."

"Ve vill crawl before long, perhaps," said Rollin; "ve may even stop
crawling an' die at last, but ve must not yet give in."

In the strength of this resolve they returned to the lakelet when the
sun went down, and encamped there.  It is needless to say that they
supped and slept well notwithstanding--or notwithforstanding, as Rollin
put it.  Rollin was fond of long words, and possessed a few that were
his own private property.  Victor had a dream that night.  He dreamt
that he caught sight of an Indian on the plains with Tony on his
shoulder; that he gave chase, and almost overtook them, when, to save
himself, the Indian dropped his burden; that he, Victor, seized his
rescued brother in a tight embrace, and burst into tears of joy; that
Tony suddenly turned into Petawanaquat, and that, in the sharp revulsion
of feeling, he, Victor, seized the nose of the savage and pulled it out
to a length of three yards, twisted it round his neck and choked him,
thrust his head down into his chest and tied his arms in a knot over it,
and, finally, stuffing him into a mud-puddle, jumped upon him and
stamped him down.  It was an absurd dream, no doubt, but are not dreams
generally absurd?

While engaged in the last mentioned humane operation, Victor was
awakened by Ian.

"It's time to be moving," said his comrade with a laugh.  "I would have
roused you before, but you seemed to be so busily engaged with some
friend that I hadn't the heart to part you sooner."

The whole of that day they spent in a fruitless effort to detect the
footprints of Petawanaquat, either among the tracks made by the band of
Indians or among those diverging from the main line of march.  In so
doing they wandered far from the camp at the lakelet, and even lost
sight of each other.  The only result was that Ian and Rollin returned
in the evening dispirited and weary, and Victor lost himself.

The ease with which this is done is scarcely comprehensible by those who
have not wandered over an unfamiliar and boundless plain, on which the
clumps of trees and shrubs have no very distinctive features.

Victor's comrades, however, were alive to the danger.  Not finding him
in camp, they at once went out in different directions, fired shots
until they heard his answering reply, and at last brought him safely in.

That night again they spent on the margin of the little lake, and over
the camp-fire discussed their future plans.  It was finally assumed that
Petawanaquat had joined the Indians, and resolved that they should
follow up the trail as fast as they could travel.

This they did during many days without, however, overtaking the Indians.
Then the pemmican began to wax low, for in their anxiety to push on
they neglected to hunt.  At last, one evening, just as it was growing
dark, and while they were looking out for a convenient resting-place,
they came on the spot where the Indians had encamped, evidently the
night before, for the embers of their fires were still smoking.

Here, then, they lay down with the pleasing hope, not unmingled with
anxiety, that they should overtake the band on the following day.



CHAPTER FIVE.

TONY BECOMES A REDSKIN, AND THE PURSUERS CHANGE THEIR GAME.

When Petawanaquat joined the band of Indians, of whom we left Victor
Ravenshaw and his comrades in eager pursuit, he deemed it advisable for
various reasons to alter the costume and general appearance of his
captive, and for that purpose took him to a sequestered spot in the
bushes outside the camp.

Poor Tony had at first shrunk from his captor with inexpressible horror,
but when he found that the Indian did not eat him his mind was calmed.
As time advanced, and he perceived that Petawanaquat, although stern and
very silent, took much pains to assist him on his long marches, and,
above all, fed him with a liberal hand, his feelings changed
considerably, and at last he began to regard the taciturn red man with
something like fondness.  Petawanaquat made no positive effort to gain
the child's affections; he never fondled him, and seldom spoke, save for
the purpose of giving a brief command, which Tony always obeyed with
miraculous promptitude.  The utmost that can be said is that the savage
was gentle and supplied his wants.  Could a civilised man have done much
more?

It may be well to remark in passing that Tony, having associated a good
deal with Indian boys in Red River, could speak their language pretty
well.  The Indian, of course, spoke his own tongue correctly, while Tony
spoke it much as he spoke his own--childishly.  As the reader probably
does not understand the Indian language, we will give its equivalent as
spoken by both in English.

On reaching the sequestered spot above referred to, Petawanaquat sat
down on a fallen tree and made the wondering child stand up before him.

"The white man's boy must become an Indian," he said solemnly.

"How zat poss'ble?" demanded the child with equal solemnity.

"By wearing the red man's clothes and painting his face," returned his
captor.

"Zat'll be jolly," said Tony, with a smile of hearty approval.

How he expressed the word "jolly" in the Indian tongue we cannot tell,
but he conveyed it somehow, for the Indian's lips expanded in a grim
smile, the first he had indulged in since the day of the abduction.

The process by which Tony was transformed was peculiar.  Opening a
little bundle, the Indian took therefrom a small coat, or capote, of
deer-skin; soft, and of a beautiful yellow, like the skin of the
chamois.  It was richly ornamented with porcupine-quill-work done in
various colours, and had fringes of leather and little locks of hair
hanging from it in various places.  Causing Tony to strip, he put this
coat on him, and fastened it round his waist with a worsted belt of
bright scarlet.  Next he drew on his little legs a pair of blue cloth
leggings, which were ornamented with beads, and clothed his feet in new
moccasins, embroidered, like the coat, with quill-work.  Tony regarded
all this with unconcealed pleasure, but it did not seem to please him so
much when the Indian combed his rich curly hair straight down all round,
so that his face was quite concealed by it.  Taking a pair of large
scissors from his bundle, the Indian passed one blade under the hair
across the forehead, gave a sharp snip, and the whole mass fell like a
curtain to the ground.  It was a sublimely simple mode of clearing the
way for the countenance--much in vogue among North American savages,
from whom it has recently been introduced among civilised nations.  The
Indian then lifted the clustering curls at the back, and again opened
the scissors.  For a few moments his fingers played with the locks as he
gazed thoughtfully at them; then, apparently changing his mind, he let
them drop, and put the scissors away.

But the toilet was not yet complete.  The versatile operator drew from
his bundle some bright-red, yellow ochre, and blue paint, with a piece
of charcoal, and set to work on Tony's countenance with all the force of
a Van Dyck and the rich colouring of a Rubens.  He began with a streak
of scarlet from the eyebrows to the end of the nose.  Skipping the
mouth, he continued the streak from the lower lip down the chin, under
which it melted into a tender half-tint made by a smudge of yellow ochre
and charcoal.  This vigorous touch seemed to rouse the painter's spirit
in Petawanaquat, for he pushed the boy out at arm's length, drew himself
back, frowned, glared, and breathed hard.  Three bars of blue from the
bridge of the nose over each cheek, with two red circles below, and a
black triangle on the forehead, were touched in with consummate skill
and breadth.  One of the touches was so broad that it covered the whole
jaw, and had to be modified.  On each closed upper eyelid an intensely
black spot was painted, by which simple device Tony, with his azure
orbs, was made, as it were, to wink black and gaze blue.  The general
effect having thus been blocked in, the artist devoted himself to the
finishing touches, and at last turned out a piece of work which old
Samuel Ravenshaw himself would have failed to recognise as his son.

It should have been remarked that previous to this, Petawanaquat had
modified his own costume.  His leggings were fringed with scalp-locks;
he had painted his face, and stuck a bunch of feathers in his hair, and
a gay firebag and a tomahawk were thrust under his belt behind.

"Ho!" he exclaimed, with a look of satisfaction, "now Tony is Tonyquat,
and Petawanaquat is his father!"

"When will zoo take me back to my own fadder?" asked Tony, emboldened by
the Indian's growing familiarity.

No reply was given to this, but the question seemed to throw the red man
into a savage reverie, and a dark frown settled on his painted face, as
he muttered, "The Little Wolf meant to take the white man's life, but he
was wise: he spared his life and took his _heart_.  His revenge is
sweeter.  Wah!"

Tony failed to catch the meaning of this, but fearing to rouse the anger
of his new father, he held his tongue.  Meanwhile the Indian put the
child on a stump a few yards off in front of him, filled his pipe,
lighted it, placed an elbow on each knee, rested his chin on his doubled
fists, and glared at his handiwork.  Tony was used to glaring by that
time, though he did not like it.  He sat still for a long time like one
fascinated, and returned the stare with interest.

At last the Indian spoke.

"Is Tonyquat a Christian?"

Somewhat surprised but not perplexed by the question Tony answered, "Ho,
yis," promptly.

The Indian again looked long and earnestly at the child, as if he were
considering how far such a juvenile mind might be capable of going into
a theological discussion.

"What _is_ a Christian?" asked the Indian abruptly.

"A Kist'n's a dood boy," replied Tony; then, dropping his eyes for a
moment in an effort to recall past lessons, he suddenly looked up with
an intelligent smile, and said, "Oh, yis, I 'memers now.  Elsie teach me
a Kist'n boy's one what tries to be like de Lord--dood, kind, gentle,
fo'givin', patient, an' heaps more; zat's what a Kist'n is."

The Indian nodded approvingly.  This accorded, as far as it went, with
what he had learned from the missionaries of Red River, but his mind was
evidently perplexed.  He smoked, meditated a considerable time, and
glared at Tony in silence; then said suddenly--

"Tonyquat, your father is _not_ a Christian."

"My fadder would knock zoo down if zoo say dat to hims face," replied
the child confidently.

This seemed so palpable a truth that the Indian nodded several times,
and grinned fiendishly.

"Do Christians swear, an' drink, and fight, and get angry till the blood
makes the face blue, and strike with the fist?" asked Petawanaquat.

"Oh, no--_never_," replied Tony, adopting that shocked tone and look
which Elsie was in the habit of using when anything wicked was
propounded to her; "dey's always dood, like Josuf an' Abel an' Sam'l,
an' Cain, an' David, an' Saul--"

Tony stopped short, with an indistinct idea that he was mixing pattern
characters.

"Ho!" muttered the savage, with a gleam of triumph in his eyes,
"Petawanaquat has got his _heart_."

"Eh, zoo got 'im by heart a'ready?  Took me long, long time to git 'em
by heart," said Tony, with a look of admiration, which was sadly marred
by the paint.  "Me's not got 'em all off yet.  But you's clever, an'--
an'--big."

The Indian's smile became a sad one, and his look was again perplexed,
as he rose and returned to the camp, followed by his adopted son.  It
was obvious that no light was to be thrown on his religious
difficulties, whatever they were, by Tonyquat.

After leaving the lakelet on the plains, the Indian travelled for
several days with his friends; and then parting from them, went towards
the west, to rejoin his family.  This point of divergence the pursuers
had missed, and when they overtook the Indian band, they found, to their
intense regret, that the kidnapper had escaped them.

"We will hold on with the redskins," said Ian Macdonald, while sitting
in council with his companions after this discovery.  "The chief tells
me that buffaloes have been reported in a spot which lies in the
direction we must follow to recover the trail.  This advantage we now
possess, however: we know where Petawanaquat is going--thanks to his
so-called friends here, who don't seem to care much about him--and as he
believes he has distanced all pursuers, he will now journey slower than
before.  Besides, we must help to kill a buffalo or two, our meat being
nearly done.  What say you, Vic?"

"I say what you say, of course, though I'd rather set off ahead of the
band, and push on as fast as we can."

"Vich means dat youth bees impetoous toujours," said Rollin.

In pursuance of this plan they journeyed with the Indians for three
days, when an event occurred which modified their plans considerably.
This was the discovery one afternoon of a broad trail, made by the
passage of numerous carts and horsemen over the prairie.

"Buffalo-runners!" exclaimed Rollin, when they came upon the track.

"From Red River!" cried Victor.

"Even so, boys," said Ian.

The Indian chief, who led the party, held the same opinion, and added
that they were evidently journeying in the same direction with
themselves.  This rendered it necessary that they should make a forced
march during the night, it being otherwise impossible for men on foot to
overtake a party of horsemen.  Towards midnight of the same day they had
the satisfaction of seeing their campfires in the distance.  Soon
afterwards they were within the circle of the camp, where men were still
smoking and eating round the fires, and women and children were moving
busily about.

"Why, there are John Flett and David Mowat," exclaimed Victor, as
several of the men came forward to meet the party.

"An' Hayes, an' Vinklemann," cried Rollin.

Another minute and they were shaking hands amid a chorus of surprised
and hearty questions and replies.

"Is Louis Lambert with you?" asked Victor, after mutual explanations had
been given.

"No," said David Mowat, with a laugh, "he's got other fish to fry at
home."

Poor Ian winced, for he at once pictured to himself Elsie as the mermaid
hinted at.

"Now, boys, I'm going to ask some of you to make a sacrifice," said Ian.
"We had intended to follow up this chase on foot, but of course will be
able to accomplish our end sooner on horseback.  I want three of you to
lend us your horses.  You're sure to be well paid for them by Sam
Ravenshaw and my father.  I'll guarantee you that--"

"We want no guarantee," interrupted John Flett, "and we have spare
horses enough in the camp to mount you without giving up our own; so
make your mind easy."

"Zat is troo," said Herr Winklemann; "ve has goot horse to spare;
buff'lo-runners every von.  Bot you mus' stay vid us von day for run ze
buff'lo an' git supply of meat."

Victor and his friends at once agreed to this, all the more readily that
the possession of horses would now enable them easily to overtake the
fugitives.  Accordingly, they sat down to a splendid supper of robbiboo,
and continued to eat, chat, and quaff tea far into the following
morning, until nature asserted herself by shutting up their eyelids.

The band with which our adventurers were now associated was composed of
a motley crew of Red River half-breeds, out for the great spring buffalo
hunt.  It consisted of nearly 700 hunters, as many women, more than 400
children, and upwards of 1000 carts, with horses and draught oxen,
besides about 700 buffalo-runners, or trained hunting-horses, and more
than 500 dogs.  These latter, although useless in the spring hunt, were,
nevertheless, taken with them, fed, and cared for, because of their
valuable qualities as draught animals for light sledges in winter.

Some of the hunters were steady-going and respectable enough; others
were idle, thriftless fellows, who could not settle to farming in the
colony, and even in the chase were lazy, bad hunters.  The women were
there for the purpose of attending to camp duties--cooking, dressing the
buffalo skins, making bags from the animals' green hides, with the hair
left on the outside, and filling the same with pemmican.

This substance, as we have elsewhere remarked, is by no means
unpalatable; it is very nutritious, and forms the chief food of the
hundreds of voyageurs who traverse Rupert's Land in boats and canoes
during the open season of the year.  It must be understood, however,
that the compost is not attractive in appearance.  It is made in the
open air by women who are not very particular in their habits.  Hence,
during windy weather, a modicum of dust is introduced into it.  Even
stray leaves and twigs may get into it at times, and it is always
seasoned more or less profusely with buffalo hairs.  But these are
trifles to strong and hungry men.

Two trips to the plains were made annually by these hunters.  The
proceeds of the spring hunt were always sold to supply them with needed
clothing, ammunition, etcetera, for the year.  The "fall or autumn hunt"
furnished them with their winter stock of food, and helped to pay off
their debts, most of them being supplied on credit.  Sometimes the fall
hunt failed, in which case starvation stared the improvident among them
in the face, and suffering, more or less severe, was the lot of all.

Little, however, did the reckless, jovial half-breeds care for such
considerations on the occasion about which we write.  It was the spring
hunt.  The year was before them.  Health rolled in the veins and hope
revelled in the breasts of all as they mounted their steeds, and sallied
forth to the chase.

Ah! it was a memorable day for Victor, when, at early dawn, he vaulted
into the saddle of the horse lent to him, and went off to hunt the
buffalo.

The said horse began by standing straight up on its hind legs like a
man!  Victor held on by the mane.  Reversing the process, it pointed its
tail to the sky.  Victor stood in the stirrups.  It swerved to the
right, it swerved to the left, but Victor swerved with it
accommodatingly.  He was a splendid horseman.  Finding that out at last,
the steed took the bit in its teeth and ran away.  Victor let it run--
nay, he whacked its sides and _made_ it run.  Dozens of wild fellows
were curvetting and racing around him.  It was his _first_ hunt.  Mad
with excitement, he finally swept away from his comrades with a series
of war-whoops that would have done credit to the fiercest redskin on the
North American plains.



CHAPTER SIX.

DESCRIBES A GREAT HUNT.

The huge bison, or buffalo, of the North American prairie is gregarious;
in other words, it loves society and travels in herds.  These herds are
sometimes so vast as absolutely to blacken the plains for miles around.

The half-breed buffalo-hunters of Red River were also gregarious.  From
the moment of their quitting the settlements they kept together for
mutual help and protection.  Although a free, wild, and lawless set,
they found it absolutely necessary for hunting purposes to organise
themselves, and thus by voluntary submission to restraint, unwittingly
did homage to Law!  On a level plain at a place called Pembina, three
days out from Red River, the whole camp squatted down; the roll was
called, and rules and regulations for the journey were agreed upon and
settled.  Then ten captains were named, the senior being Baptiste
Warder, an English half-breed, a fine bold-looking and discreet man of
resolute character, who was thus elected the great war chief of the
little army.  As commander-in-chief Baptiste had various duties to
perform, among others to see that lost property picked up about the camp
should be restored to its owner through the medium of a public crier,
who went his rounds every evening.  Each captain had ten stout fellows
under him to act as soldiers or policemen.  Ten guides were also
appointed, each of whom led the camp day about and carried its flag or
standard.  The hoisting of the flag each morning was the signal for
raising the camp.  Half an hour was the time allowed to get ready,
unless, any one being sick or animals having strayed, delay became
necessary.  All day the flag remained up; its being lowered each evening
was the signal for encamping.  Then the captains and their men arranged
the order of the camp.  The carts as they arrived moved to their
appointed places, side by side, with the trains outwards, and formed a
circle, inside of which, at one end, the tents were pitched in double
and triple rows, the horses, etcetera, being tethered at the other end.
Thus they were at all times ready to resist attack from Indians.

Among other rules laid down on this occasion at starting were the
following:--

No hunting to be allowed on the Sabbath day.  No party to fork off, lag
behind, or go before, without permission.  No hunter or party to run
buffalo before the general order, and every captain in turn to mount
guard with his men and patrol the camp.  The punishments for offenders
were, like themselves, rather wild and wasteful.  For a first offence
against the laws, a culprit was to have his saddle and bridle cut up!
For the second, his coat to be taken and cut up; and for the third he
was to be flogged.  A person convicted of theft was to be brought to the
middle of the camp, and have his or her name loudly proclaimed three
times, with the word "thief" added each time.

It was the third week out from the settlement when the hunters met with
Victor Ravenshaw and his friends, yet up to that day they had failed to
find the buffalo, and were well-nigh starving.  The intelligence,
therefore, that scouts had at length discovered game, had filled the
camp with joy.

After having taken a little of the mettle out of his steed, as related
in the last chapter, Victor caused him to make a wide circuit on the
plain, and came up behind the line of hunters just as they topped a
prairie undulation, or wave, and sighted the buffalo.  It was a grand
array, the sight of which thrilled the young sportsman to the heart.
Full four hundred huntsmen, mounted on fresh and restive steeds, were
slowly advancing, waiting eagerly for the word to start.  Baptiste
Warder, their chief, was in front with his telescope, surveying the game
and the ground.  Victor pushed in between Ian and Rollin, who rode near
the centre of the impatient line.  The wild cattle blackened the plain
at the distance of about a mile and a half from them.

"Surely they must have seen us by this time," said Victor, in a voice of
suppressed agitation.

"Have you got your powder-horn and bullets handy?" asked Ian.

"Yes; all right."

"Put 'im in de mout, de mout," said Rollin quickly.

The half-breed here referred to a habit of the hunters, who carry
several bullets in their mouths to facilitate loading while running at
full speed.  The method is simple.  The hunter merely pours powder into
his left palm, transfers it to his gun, drops a bullet from his mouth
into the muzzle, hits the butt smartly on his pommel, which at once
sends the charge home and forces priming into the pan, and thus is ready
for another shot.

Victor, having forgotten all about this, immediately put three bullets
into his mouth, his gun being already loaded.

"Don't swallow them!" said Ian.

"Swallow your own advice," growled Victor.

"Start!" shouted Captain Warder.

The welcome signal sent an electric thrill along the line.  It was
promptly obeyed, first at a slow trot, then at a hard gallop.  The low
rumbling thunder of their tramp was in keeping with the wild eager looks
of the half-savage hunters.  They had approached to within four or five
hundred yards before the buffalo-bulls curved their tails into marks of
interrogation and began to paw the ground.  Another moment, and the
mighty herd took to flight.  Then the huntsmen let loose their eager
steeds.  As squadrons of dragoons charge into the thick of battle, these
wild fellows bore down with grand momentum on the buffalo bands.  The
very earth seemed to tremble when they charged, but when the herd sprang
away in the frenzy of terror it was as though a shock of earthquake had
riven the plains.  Right into the careering mass the horsemen rushed.
Shots began--here, there, and everywhere, until a rattle of musketry
filled the air, while smoke, dust, shouts, and bellowing added to the
wild confusion.  The fattest animals were selected, and in an incredibly
short space of time a thousand of their carcasses strewed the plain.

The men who were best mounted of course darted forward in advance and
secured the fattest cows.  They seldom dropped a mark to identify their
property.  These hunters possess a power of distinguishing the animals
they have slain during a hot and long ride, which amounts almost to an
instinct--even though they may have killed from ten to twelve animals.
An experienced hunter on a good horse will perform such a feat during
one race.  He seldom fires till within three or four yards of his prey,
and never misses.  A well-trained horse, the moment it hears the shot,
springs on one side to avoid stumbling over the buffalo.  An awkward or
shy horse will not approach nearer than ten or fifteen yards.  Badly
mounted men think themselves well off if they secure two or three
animals during one run.

As the battle continued, the very air was darkened with dust and smoke.
Of course such a fight could not rage without casualties.  There were,
in truth, many hairbreadth and some almost miraculous escapes, for the
ground was rocky and full of badger-holes.  Twenty-three horses and
riders were seen at one moment all sprawling on the ground.  One horse
was gored by a bull and killed on the spot: two other horses fell over
it and were disabled.  One rider broke his shoulder-blade, another burst
his gun by careless loading, and lost three fingers, while another was
struck on the knee by a spent ball.  The wonder was, not that so many,
but that so few, were hurt, when it is considered that the riders were
dashing about in clouds of dust and smoke, crossing and recrossing each
other in all directions, with shots firing right and left, before,
behind--everywhere--in quick succession.  The explanation must be that,
every man being a trained marksman, nearly every bullet found its billet
in a buffalo's body.

With his heart in his mouth, as well as his bullets, Victor Ravenshaw
entered into the wild _melee_, scarce knowing what he was about.
Although inexperienced, he knew well what to do, for many a time had he
listened to the stories of buffalo-hunters in times past, and had put
all their operations in practice with a wooden gun in mimic chase.  But
it was not easy to keep cool.  He saw a fat animal just ahead of him,
pushed close alongside; pointed his gun without raising it to his
shoulder, and fired.  He almost burnt the animal's hair, so near was he.
The buffalo fell and his horse leaped to one side.  Victor had
forgotten this part of the programme.  He was nearly unseated, but held
on by the mane and recovered his seat.

Immediately he poured powder into his palm--spilling a good deal and
nearly dropping his gun from under his left arm in the operation--and
commenced to reload while at full speed.  He spat a ball into the
muzzle, just missed knocking out some of his front teeth, forgot to
strike the butt on the pommel of the saddle, (which omission would have
infallibly resulted in the bursting of the gun had it exploded), pointed
at another animal and drew the trigger.  It missed fire, of course, for
want of priming.  He remembered his error; corrected it, pointed again,
fired, and dropped another cow.

Elated with success, he was about to reload when a panting bull came up
behind him.  He seized his bridle, and swerved a little.  The bull
thundered on, mad with rage; its tail aloft, and pursued by Michel
Rollin, who seemed as angry as the bull.

"Hah!  I vill stop you!" growled the excited half-breed as he dashed
along.

Animals were so numerous and close around them that they seemed in
danger, at the moment, of being crushed.  Suddenly the bull turned sharp
round on its pursuer.  To avoid it the horse leaped on one side; the
girths gave way and the rider, saddle and all, were thrown on the bull's
horns.  With a wild toss of its head, the surprised creature sent the
man high into the air.  In his fall he alighted on the back of another
buffalo--it was scarcely possible to avoid this in the crowd--and
slipped to the ground.  Strange to say, Rollin was not hurt, but he was
effectually thrown out of the running for that time, and Victor saw him
no more till evening.  We relate no fanciful or exaggerated tale, good
reader.  Our description is in strict accordance with the account of a
credible eye-witness.

For upwards of an hour and a half the wild chase was kept up; the plain
was strewn with the dead and dying, and horsemen as well as buffaloes
were scattered far and wide.

Victor suddenly came upon Ian while in pursuit of an animal.

"What luck!" he shouted.

"I've killed two--by accident, I think," said Ian, swerving towards his
comrade, but not slackening his pace.

"Capital!  I've killed three.  Who's that big fellow ahead after the old
bull?"

"It's Winklemann.  He seems to prefer tough meat."

As Ian spoke the bull in question turned suddenly round, just as
Rollin's bull had done, and received Winklemann's horse on its hairy
forehead.  The poor man shot from the saddle as if he had been thrown
from a catapult, turned a complete somersault over the buffalo, and fell
on his back beyond.  Thrusting the horse to one side, the buffalo turned
and seemed to gore the prostrate German as it dashed onward.

Puffing up at once, both Victor and Ian leaped from their horses and
hastened to assist their friend.  He rose slowly to a sitting posture as
they approached, and began to feel his legs with a troubled look.

"Not much hurt, I hope?" said Ian, kneeling beside him.  "No bones
broken?"

"No, I think not; mine leks are fery vell, but I fear mine lunks are
gone," answered the German, untying his belt.

It was found, however, on examination, that the lungs were all right,
the bull's horn having merely grazed the poor man's ribs.  In a few
minutes his horse was caught, and he was able to remount, but the trio
were now far behind the tide of war, which had swept away by that time
to the horizon.  They therefore determined to rest content with what
they had accomplished and return to camp.

"What a glorious chase!" exclaimed Victor as they rode slowly back; "I
almost wish that white men might have the redskin's heaven and hunt the
buffalo for ever."

"You'd soon grow tired of your heaven," said Ian, laughing.  "I suspect
that the soul requires occupation of a higher kind than the pursuing and
slaying of wild animals."

"No doubt you are right, you learned philosopher; but you can't deny
that this has been a most enjoyable burst."

"I don't deny anything.  I merely controvert your idea that it would be
pleasant to go on with this sort of thing for ever."

"Hah! de more so, ven your back is almost broke and your lunks are
gored."

"But your `lunks' are not `gored,'" said Victor.  "Come, Winklemann, be
thankful that you are alive.--By the way, Ian, where are the animals you
killed?"

"We are just coming to one.  Here it is.  I threw my cap down to mark
it, and there is another one, a quarter of a mile behind it.  We have
plenty of meat, you see, and shall be able to quit the camp to-morrow."

While the friends were thus jogging onwards, the hunt came to an end,
and the hunters, throwing off their coats and turning up their sleeves,
drew their scalping-knives, and began the work of skinning and cutting
up the animals.  While thus engaged their guns and bridles lay handy
beside them, for at such times their Indian enemies are apt to pounce on
and scalp some of them, should they chance to be in the neighbourhood.
At the same time the carts advanced and began to load with meat and
marrow-bones.  The utmost expedition was used, for all the meat that
they should be obliged to leave on the field when night closed in would
be lost to them and become the property of the wolves.  We know not what
the loss amounted to on this occasion.  But the gain was eminently
satisfactory, no fewer than 1375 tongues, (as tit-bits and trophies),
being brought into camp.

Is it to be wondered at that there were sounds of rejoicing that night
round the blazing camp-fires?  Need we remark that the hissing of juicy
steaks sounded like a sweet lullaby far on into the night; that the
contents of marrow-bones oiled the fingers, to say nothing of the
mouths, cheeks, and noses, of man, woman, and child?  Is it surprising
that people who had been on short allowance for a considerable time past
took advantage of the occasion and ate till they could hardly stand?

Truly they made a night of it.  Their Indian visitors, who constituted
themselves camp-followers, gorged themselves to perfect satisfaction,
and even the dogs, who had a full allowance, licked their lips that
night with inexpressible felicity.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

SOME OF THE SHADOWS OF A BUFFALO-HUNTER'S LIFE.

In order to give the women time to prepare some pemmican for them,
Victor Ravenshaw and his companions agreed to spend another day with the
hunters, and again, as a matter of course, followed them to the chase.

The same wild pursuit, accompanied by accidents, serious and
serio-comic, took place, and success again attended the hunt, but the
day did not end so happily, owing to an event which filled the camp with
great anxiety.  It happened at the close of the day.

The men were dropping into camp by twos and threes, wearied with hard
work, more or less covered with dust and blood, and laden with buffalo
tongues.  Carts, also, were constantly coming in, filled with meat.  The
women were busy cutting up and drying the meat in the sun, or over a
slow fire, melting down fat, pounding the dried meat with stones, and
manufacturing bags out of the raw hides.  Chatting and merry laughter
resounded on all sides, for pemmican and bales of dried meat meant
money, and they were coining it fast.

Towards sunset a band of several hunters appeared on the ridge in front
of the camp, and came careering gaily towards it.  Baptiste Warder, the
mighty captain, led.  Victor, Ian, Rollin, Winklemann, Flett, Mowat, and
others followed.  They dashed into camp like a whirlwind, and sprang
from their steeds, evidently well pleased with the success of the day.

"Had splendid sport," said Victor, with glittering eyes, to one of the
subordinate captains, who addressed him.  "I killed ten animals myself,
and Ian Macdonald missed fifteen; Winklemann dropped six, besides
dropping himself--"

"Vat is dat you zay?" demanded the big German, who was divesting himself
of some of the accoutrements of the chase.

"I say that you tumbled over six buffaloes and then tumbled over
yourself," said Victor, laughing.

"Zat is not troo.  It vas mine horse vat tombled.  Of course I could not
go on riding upon noting after mine horse vas down."

At supper Herr Winklemann was quieter than usual, and rather cross.  His
propensity to tumble seemed to be a sore subject with him, both as to
body and mind.  He made more than one cutting remark to Victor during
the meal.  After supper pipes were of course lighted, and conversation
flowed freely.  The only two who did not smoke were Ian Macdonald and,
strange to say, Winklemann.  That worthy German was a brilliant
exception to his countrymen in the matter of tobacco.  Victor, under the
influence of example, was attempting in a quiet way to acquire the art,
but with little success.  He took to the pipe awkwardly.

"Vat vor you smok?" asked Winklemann, in a tone of contempt to Victor.
"It is clear zat you do not loike it."

"How d'you know that I don't like it?" asked Victor, with a blush and a
laugh.

"Becowse your face do show it.  Ve does not make faces at vat ve
loikes."

"That may be," retorted Victor, somewhat sharply.  "Nevertheless, I have
earned a hunter's right to enjoy my pipe as well as the rest of you."

"Bon, bon, c'est vrai--true," cried Rollin, letting a huge cloud escape
from his lips.

"Bah! doos killing buffalo give you right to do voolishness?  Do not try
for deceive yourself.  You loike it not, bot you tink it makes you look
loike a _man_.  Zat is vat you tink.  Nevair vas you more mistouken.  I
have seen von leetle poy put on a pair of big boots and tink he look
very grand, very loike him fadder; bot de boots only makes him look
smaller dan before, an' more foolish.  So it is vid de pipe in de mout
of de beardless poy."

Having thrown this apple of discord into the midst of the party,
Winklemann shut his mouth firmly, as if waiting for a belligerent reply.
As for Victor, he flushed again, partly from indignation at this attack
on his liberty to do as he pleased, and partly from shame at having the
real motive of his heart so ruthlessly exposed.  Victor was too honest
and manly to deny the fact that he had not yet acquired a liking for
tobacco, and admitted to himself that, in very truth, his object in
smoking was to appear, as he imagined, more like a man, forgetful or
ignorant of the fact that men, (even smokers), regard beardless
consumers of tobacco as poor imitative monkeys.  He soon came to see the
habit in its true light, and gave it up, luckily, before he became its
slave.  He would have been more than mortal, however, had he given in at
once.  Continuing, therefore, to puff with obstinate vigour, he returned
to the charge.

"Smoking is no worse than drinking, Winklemann, and you know that you're
fond of beer."

"Bon!" said Rollin, nodding approval.

"Vat then?" cried the German, who never declined a challenge of any
kind, and who was fond of wordy war; "doos my sin joostify yours?  Bot
you is wrong.  If smoking be not worse dan trinking, it is less
excusable, for to trink is natural.  I may apuse mine power an' trink
vat is pad for me, but den I may likewise trink vat is coot for me.  Vit
smoking, no; you cannot smok vat is coot; it is all pad togeder.  Von
chile is porn; vell, it do trink at vonce, vidout learning.  Bot did any
von ever hear of a chile vat cry for a pipe ven it was porn?"

The laugh with which this question was greeted was suddenly arrested by
the sound of a galloping steed.  Every one sprang up and instinctively
seized a weapon, for the clatter of hoofs had that unmistakable
character which indicates desperate urgency.  It was low and dull at
first, but became suddenly and sharply distinct as a rider rose over the
ridge to the left and bore madly down on the camp, lashing his horse
with furious persistency.

"It's young Valle," exclaimed Captain Baptiste, hastening to meet him.

Valle, who was a mere youth, had gone out with his father, Louison
Valle, and the rest of the hunters in the morning.  With glaring eyes,
and scarce able to speak, he now reined in his trembling steed, and told
the terrible news that his father had been killed by Sioux Indians.  A
party of half-breeds instantly mounted and dashed away over the plains,
led by the poor boy on a fresh horse.  On the way he told the tale more
fully.

We have already said that when skinning the buffalo late in the evening,
or at a distance from camp, the hunters ran considerable risk from
savages, and were more or less wary in consequence.  It was drawing
towards sunset when Louison Valle perceived that night would descend
before he could secure the whole of the animals he had shot, and made up
his mind to the sacrifice.  While busily engaged on a buffalo, he sent
his son, on his own horse, to a neighbouring eminence, to watch and
guard against surprise.  Even while the father was giving directions to
the son, a party of Sioux, armed with bows and arrows, were creeping
towards him, snake-like, through the long grass.  These suddenly rushed
upon him, and he had barely time to shout to his son, "Make for the
camp!" when he fell, pierced by a shower of arrows.  Of course, the
savages made off at once, well knowing that pursuit was certain.  The
murderers were twelve in number.  They made for the bush country.
Meanwhile, the avengers reached the murdered man.  The body was on its
back, just as it had fallen.  Death must have relieved the unfortunate
hunter before the scalp had been torn from his skull.

It was the first time that Victor Ravenshaw had looked upon a slain man.
Many a time and oft had he read, with a thrill of interest, glowing
descriptions of fights in which isolated acts of courage, or heroism, or
magnanimity on the battle-field, coupled with but slight reference to
the killed and wounded, had blinded his perceptions as to the true
nature of the game of war.  Now his eyes beheld the contorted form of
one with whose manly aspect he had been familiar in the settlement,
scarcely recognisable in its ghastliness, with blue lips, protruding
eyeballs, and a horrid mass of coagulated blood where the once curling
hair had been.  Victor's ears were still ringing with the deadly shriek
that had burst from Valle's wife when she heard the dreadful news--just
as he and his party galloped out of the camp.  He knew also that the
dead hunter left several young children to be pinched by dire poverty in
future years for want of their natural bread-winner.  These and many
similar thoughts crowded on his throbbing brain as he gazed at the new
and terrible sight, and his eyes began for the first time to open to
truths which ever after influenced his opinions while reading of the
so-called triumphs of war.

"Vengeance!" was now the cry, as the hunters left the place in hot
pursuit.

They knew that the savages could not be far off, and that they were
unmounted, but they also knew that if they succeeded in gaining the
larger portions of thick bush with which some parts of that region were
covered it would be impossible to follow them up.  Moreover, it was
growing dark, and there was no time to lose.

In a few minutes Ian and Victor were left alone with two men who had
agreed to look after the body of the murdered man.

Sadly and silently they assisted in laying the corpse in a cavity of the
rocks, and covering it over with large stones to protect it from wolves,
and then prepared to leave the spot.

"Will they succeed, think you, in overtaking the murderers?" asked
Victor of one of the men.

"Succeed?  Ay, no fear of that!" replied the hunter, with a vindictive
scowl.  "It's not the first time some of them have been out after the
Sioux."

"We will ride back to camp, Vic," said Ian, rousing himself from a
reverie; "it is no part of our duty to assist in executing vengeance.
If the camp were assailed we should indeed be bound to help defend it,
but there are more than enough men out to hunt down these murderers.  If
a cart is not already on its way for the corpse we will send one.
Come."

That night the avengers returned; they had overtaken and shot down eight
of the Sioux,--the remaining four gained the bushes and escaped.  None
of themselves were hurt, but one had a narrow escape, an arrow having
passed between his shirt and skin.

Next day Victor and his friends prepared to leave the hunters and resume
the chase of Petawanaquat, but they were arrested by one of those
terrific thunderstorms which occasionally visit the prairies.  They were
already mounted and on the point of taking leave, when the air darkened
suddenly, the sky became overcast, lightning began to flash in vivid
gleams, and a crash of thunder seemed to rend the earth and heavens.

Presently Herr Winklemann, who meant to ride with the parting guests a
short way, and was also mounted, uttered a shout, and immediately horse
and man rolled upon the plain.  The man rose slowly, but the horse lay
still--killed by lightning!  By the same flash, apparently, another
horse was struck dead.

"Vell, you has tomble very often vid me," said the German, contemplating
the fallen steed, "bot you vill tomble again no mor."

"Oui, he is mort," sighed Rollin, looking down.

After this first burst there was a considerable lull, but appearances
were so gloomy that departure was delayed.

Soon after, the storm burst with a degree of violence that the oldest
hunter said he had never before witnessed.  Lightning, wind, rain,
thunder, seemed to have selected the spot for a battle-ground.  Although
the camp was pitched on comparatively high and rocky ground, the deluge
was so great that in the course of ten minutes nearly everything was
afloat.  (See Note 1.)  The camp was literally swimming, and some of the
smaller children were with difficulty saved from drowning.  So furious
was the wind that the tents were either thrown down or blown to ribbons.
During the storm three of the Indian tents, or lodges, were struck by
lightning.  In one of these a Canadian was killed; in another all the
inmates--an Indian, his wife, two children, and two dogs--were killed,
and a gun beside them was melted in several parts as though it had been
lead.

Then there fell a shower of hail, the stones of which were solid angular
pieces of ice larger than a hen's egg, by which some of the people were
severely wounded before they found shelter under the carts and
overturned tents.

It was a terrible display of the power of God, and yet, strange to say,
so far is such a scene incapable of influencing man's fallen nature for
good, that occasions such as these, when the camp is in disorder, are
often taken advantage of by Indians to approach and steal the horses.

Being well aware of this propensity of the red man, Baptiste Warder and
his captains kept a sharp look-out.  It was well they did so, for, after
the storm, a formidable band of Sioux was discovered within a short
distance of the camp.

Their wily chief was, however, equal to the occasion.  He assumed the
role of an injured man.  He had come to remonstrate with the
half-breeds, and charge them with cruelty.

"My warriors," said he, "killed only one of your people, and for that
one you murdered eight of my braves."

The half-breeds spoke the chief fairly, however, and entertained him and
his followers hospitably, so that the affair was amicably settled, and
they went away in peace.  But dark eyes had met in deadly hatred during
the conference.

The party of Indians who had joined the hunters with Victor and his
comrades were Saulteaux, (Pronounced Sotoes), and the bitter enemies of
the Sioux.  Some time after the Sioux had taken their departure, a band
of about fifty of these Saulteaux left the camp stealthily, and pursued
a detached party of their foes for about ten miles.  They overtook them
at a small stream.  The unsuspecting Sioux prepared to swim over to
them, mistaking them at first for friends, but a volley which killed
three undeceived them.  The fire was instantly returned and a smoke
raised to alarm the country.  The Saulteaux retreated, while the Sioux,
gathering force, pursued, and it is probable that the whole of the
assailants would have been scalped if night had not favoured them.  In
this raid seven Sioux were killed and three wounded.  Of the Saulteaux
three were killed and four wounded.

Again the camp was visited by enraged and armed Sioux to the number of
300, who challenged the Saulteaux to come forth man to man, and fight it
out.  The latter declined, and the half-breeds, many of whom were
related by marriage to the Saulteaux, managed to patch up a hollow peace
between them.

At last Victor, Ian, and Rollin got away, glad to have done both with
buffalo and savages.  They now possessed three good horses, a supply of
fresh provisions, and plenty of ammunition.  Thus provided they galloped
off with light hearts over the boundless plains, and soon left the camp
of the hunters far behind them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  This is no picture of the fancy, but true in all its details.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE CHASE CONTINUED, AND BROUGHT TO A FIERY TERMINATION.

With the unerring certainty of blood-hounds, the three friends now
settled down to the pursuit of Petawanaquat.  From the Saulteaux Indians
they had received an exact description of the spot where the fugitive
had parted from them; they had, therefore, little difficulty in finding
it.  Still less difficulty had they in following up the trail, for the
grass was by that time very long, and a horse leaves a track in such
grass which, if not very obvious to unaccustomed eyes, is as plain as a
highway to the vision of a backwoods hunter or a redskin.

Over the prairie waves they sped, with growing excitement as their hopes
of success increased; now thundering down into the hollows, anon
mounting the gentle slopes at full swing, or rounding the clumps of
trees that here and there dotted the prairie like islets in an
interminable sea of green; and ever, as they rounded an islet or topped
a prairie wave, they strained their eyes in earnest expectation of
seeing the objects of their pursuit on the horizon, but for several days
they raced, and gazed, and hoped in vain.  Still they did not lose
confidence, but pressed persistently on.

"Our horses are fresh and good," said Victor as they reined in to a
gentle trot on the brow of a knoll to rest for a few minutes, "and
Petawanaquat's horse, whether good or bad, is double-weighted--although,
to be sure, Tony is not heavy."

"Besides," said Ian, "the redskin does not dream now of pursuit; so
that, pressing on as we do, we _must_ overtake him ere long."

"Voila, de buffalo!" said Rollin, pointing to a group of these huge
creatures, in the midst of which two bulls were waging furious war,
while the cows stood by and looked on.  "Shall ve go an' chase dem?"

"No, Rollin; we have more important game to chase," said Victor, whose
conscience, now that he was free from the exciting influences of the
camp, had twinged him more than once for his delay--even although it was
partly justifiable--while the image of poor Tony, with outstretched,
appealing hands on a flying horse behind a savage, was ever before him.
"Come on come on!"

He switched his horse, and went skimming down the slope, followed by his
comrades.

Soon they came to a place where the ground was more broken and rocky.

"Voila! a bar! a bar!" shouted the excitable half-breed; "com, kill
him!"

They looked, and there, sure enough, was an object which Rollin declared
was a large grizzly bear.  It was a long way off, however, and the
ground between them seemed very broken and difficult to traverse on
horseback.  Ian Macdonald thought of the bear's claws, and a collar, and
Elsie, and tightened his reins.  Then he thought of the risk of breaking
a horse's leg if the bear should lead them a long chase over such
ground, and of the certain loss of time, and of Petawanaquat pushing on
ahead.  It was a tempting opportunity, but his power of self-denial
triumphed.

"No, Rollin, we have no time to hunt."

"Behold!" exclaimed Rollin again; "more buffalo!"

They had swept past the stony ground and rounded a clump of trees,
behind which a small herd of animals stood for a few seconds, staring at
them in mute amazement.  These snorted, set up their tails, and tore
wildly away to the right.  This was too much.  With a gleeful yell,
Rollin turned to pursue, but Victor called to him angrily to let the
buffalo be.  The half-breed turned back with a sigh.

"Ah, vell! ve must forbear."

"I say, Vic," remarked Ian, with a significant smile, "why won't you go
after the buffalo?"

Victor looked at his friend in surprise.

"Surely," he said, "it is more important as well as more interesting to
rescue one's brother than to chase wild animals!"

"True, but how does that sentiment accord with your wish that you might
spend eternity in hunting buffalo?"

"Oh, you know," returned Victor, with a laugh, "when I said that I
wasn't thinking of--of--"

He switched his horse into a wilder gallop, and said no more.  He had
said quite enough.  He was not the only youth in North America and
elsewhere who has uttered a good deal of nonsense without "thinking."
But then that was long ago.  Youths are wiser now!

On the evening of that day, when the sun went down, and when it became
too dark to follow the trail, and, therefore, unsafe to travel for fear
of stumbling into badger-holes, the three friends pulled up beside a
clump of wood on the margin of a little stream, and prepared their
encampment.

Little did they imagine, while busy with the fire and kettle, how nearly
they had gained their end, yet how disastrously they had missed it.
Well for man, sometimes, that he is ignorant of what takes place around
him.  Had the three pursuers known who was encamped in a clump of trees
not half a mile beyond them, they would not have feasted that night so
heartily, nor would they have gone to sleep with such calm placidity.

In the clump of trees referred to, Petawanaquat himself sat smoking over
the dying embers of the fire that had cooked his recently devoured
supper, and Tony, full to repletion, lay on his back gazing at him in
quiet satisfaction, mingled slightly with wonder; for Tony was a
philosopher in a small way, and familiarity with his father's pipe had
failed to set at rest a question which perplexed his mind, namely, why
men should draw smoke into their mouths merely to puff it out again!

When the pipe and the camp-fire had burnt low, Tony observed, with much
interest, that the Indian's eyes became suddenly fixed, that his
nostrils dilated, his lips ceased to move, the cloud that had just
escaped from them curled round the superincumbent nose and disappeared
without being followed by another cloud, and the entire man became rigid
like a brown statue.  At that point Tony ceased to think, because tired
nature asserted her claims, and he fell sound asleep.

The practised ear of the Indian had detected the sound of horses' feet
on the prairie.  To any ordinary man no sound at all would have been
perceptible save the sighing of the night wind.  Petawanaquat, however,
not only heard the tramp, but could distinguish it from that of buffalo.
He rose softly, ascertained that Tony was asleep, turned aside the
bushes, and melted into darkness among the trees.  Presently he emerged
on the plain at the other side of the clump, and there stood still.
Patience is one of the red man's characteristics.  He did not move hand
or foot for half an hour, during which time, despite the distance of the
neighbouring clump, he could easily make out the sound of an axe
chopping wood, and even heard human voices in conversation.  Then a
gleam of light flickered among the trees, and the kindling camp-fire of
our three friends became visible.

The Indian now felt comparatively safe.  He knew that, whoever the new
arrivals might be, they were unsuspicious of his presence in the
vicinity, and had encamped for the night.  He also knew that when men
are busy with supper they are not very watchful, especially when danger
is not expected.  He, therefore, gave them another quarter of an hour to
prepare supper, and then moved stealthily over the plain towards them.

On gaining the shelter of the trees, Petawanaquat advanced with cat-like
caution, until he could clearly see the travellers.  He recognised them
instantly, and a dark frown settled on his features.  His first thought
was to steal their horses, and thus leave them incapable of pursuing
further, but Ian Macdonald was too much of a backwoodsman to give a foe
the opportunity to do this.  The horses were tethered close beside the
fire.  Then the Indian thought of shooting them, but his gun being a
single-barrel, such as was sold to the Indians by the fur-traders, could
only dispose of one horse at a time, thus leaving the other two to his
incensed enemies, who would probably capture him before he could reload
or regain his own camp.  With a feeling of baffled rage he suddenly
thought of murder.  He could easily kill Ian Macdonald, could probably
reload before Rollin should overtake him, and as for Victor, he was
nothing!  Quick as thought the Indian raised his gun, and took a long
steady aim at Ian's forehead.

The contemplative schoolmaster was looking at the fire, thinking of
Elsie at the time.  He smiled as he thought of her.  Perhaps it was the
smile that checked the savage perhaps it was the words, "Thou shalt not
kill," which had been sounded in his ears more than once during the past
winter by the missionary.  At all events, the fatal trigger was not
drawn.  Ian's contemplations were not disturbed, the gun was lowered,
and the savage melted once more into the deep shade of the thicket.

Returning to his own camp in the same cat-like manner as before,
Petawanaquat quietly but quickly packed his provisions, etcetera, on his
horse.  When all was ready he tried to awaken Tony, but Tony slept the
sleep of infancy and comparative innocence.  The Indian pushed him,
kicked him, even lifted him up and shook him, before he awoke.  Then,
expressing astonishment at having to resume the journey at so early an
hour, the child submitted silently to orders.

In a few minutes the Indian led his horse down to the rivulet close at
hand, crossed it with Tony, half asleep, clinging to his back, ascended
the opposite bank, and gained the level plain.  Here he mounted, with
Tony in front to guard against the risk of his falling off in a state of
slumber, and galloped away.

Fortunately for him, the moon had risen, for red men are not a whit
better than white at seeing in the dark.  Indeed, we question the
proverbial capacity of cats in that way.  True, the orb of night was
clouded, and only in her first quarter, but she gave light enough to
enable the horseman to avoid dangers and proceed at full speed.  Thus,
while the pursuers snored, the pursued went scouring over the prairies,
farther and farther towards the fair west.

Michel Rollin, being a lively, restless character, used generally to be
up before his comrades in the mornings, and gratified an inquisitive
propensity by poking about.  In his pokings he discovered the trail of
the midnight visitor, and thereupon set up a howl of surprise that
effectually roused Ian and Victor.  These, guns in hand, rushed, as they
fancied, to the rescue.

"What a noisy goose you are!" said Victor, on learning the cause of the
cry.

"There is reason for haste, however," said Ian, rising from a close
inspection of the trail.  "Some one has been here in the night watching
us.  Why he didn't join us if a friend, or kill us if an enemy, puzzles
me.  If there were horse-tracks about I should say it must have been
Petawanaquat himself.  Come, we must mount and away without breakfast."

They went off accordingly, and soon traced the Indian's original track
to the place where he had encamped.  Petawanaquat had taken the
precaution to pour water on his fire, so as to cool the ashes, and thus
lead to the supposition that he had been gone a considerable time, but
Ian was not to be so easily deceived.  The moment he had examined the
extinct fire, and made up his mind, he leaped up and followed the trail
to the spot where the Indian had mounted.

"Now then, mount, boys!" he cried, vaulting into the saddle, "no time to
lose.  The redskin seems to have a good horse, and knows we are at his
heels.  It will be a straight end-on race now.  Hup! get along!"

Their course at first lay over a level part of the plain, which rendered
full speed possible; then they came to a part where the thick grass grew
rank and high, rendering the work severe.  As the sun rose high, they
came to a small pond, or pool.

"The rascal has halted here, I see!" cried Ian, pulling up, leaping off,
and running to the water, which he lifted to his mouth in both hands,
while his panting horse stooped and drank.  "It was very likely more for
Tony's sake than for his own.  But if he could stop, so can we for a few
minutes."

"It vill make de horses go more better," said Rollin, unstrapping the
pemmican bag.

"That's right," cried Victor, "give us a junk--a big one--so--thanks, we
can eat it as we go."

Up and away they went again, urging their horses now to do their utmost,
for they began to hope that the day of success had surely arrived.

Still far ahead of his pursuers, the Indian rode alone without check or
halt, to the alarm of Tony, who felt that something unusual had occurred
to make his self-appointed father look so fierce.

"What de matter?" he ventured to ask.  "Nobody chase us."

"Let Tonyquat shut his mouth," was the brief reply.  And Tony obeyed.
He was learning fast!

Suddenly the air on the horizon ahead became clouded.  The eyes of the
savage dilated with an expression that almost amounted to alarm.  Could
it be fire?  It was--the prairie on fire!  As the wind blew towards him,
the consuming flames and smoke approached him at greater speed than he
approached them.  They must soon meet.  Behind were the pursuers; in
front the flames.

There was but one course open.  As the fire drew near the Indian
stopped, dismounted, and tore up and beat down a portion of the grass
around him.  Then he struck a light with flint and steel and set fire to
the grass to leeward of the cleared space.  It burned slowly at first,
and he looked anxiously back as the roar of the fiery storm swelled upon
his ear.  Tony looked on in mute alarm and surprise.  The horse raised
its head wildly and became restive, but the Indian, having now lighted
the long grass thoroughly, restrained it.  Presently he sprang on its
back and drew Tony up beside him.  Flames and smoke were now on both
sides of him.  When the grass was consumed to leeward he rode on to the
blackened space--not a moment too soon, however.  It was barely large
enough to serve as a spot of refuge when the storm rolled down and
almost suffocated horse and riders with smoke.  Then the fire at that
spot went out for want of fuel, and thus the way was opened to the
coal-black plain over which it had swept.  Away flew the Indian then,
diverging sharply to the right, so as to skirt the fire, (now on its
windward side), and riding frequently into the very fringe of flame, so
that his footprints might be burnt up.

When, some hours later, the pursuers met the fire, they went through the
same performance in exactly the same manner, excepting that Victor and
Rollin acted with much greater excitement than the savage.  But when
they had escaped the flames, and rode out upon the burnt prairie to
continue the chase, every trace of those of whom they were in pursuit
had completely vanished away.



CHAPTER NINE.

METEOROLOGICAL CHANGES AND CONSEQUENCES, AND A GRAND OPPORTUNITY
MISIMPROVED.

It must not be supposed that the life of a backwoodsman is all pleasure
and excitement.  Not wishing to disappoint our readers with it, we have
hitherto presented chiefly its bright phases, but truth requires that we
should now portray some of the darker aspects of that life.  For
instance, it was a very sombre aspect indeed of prairie-life when Victor
Ravenshaw and his party crossed a stony place where Victor's horse
tripped and rolled over, causing the rider to execute a somersault which
laid him flat upon the plain, compelling the party to encamp there for
three days until he was sufficiently recovered to resume the journey.
Perhaps we should say the chase, for, although the trail had been lost,
hope was strong, and the pursuers continued to advance steadily in what
they believed to be the right direction.

The aspect of things became still more dreary when the fine weather,
which was almost uninterrupted as summer advanced, gave way to a period
of wind and rain.  Still, they pushed on hopefully.  Michel Rollin alone
was despondent.

"It is a wild goose chase now," he remarked sulkily one day, while the
wet fuel refused to kindle.

That same night Victor half awoke and growled.  He seldom awoke of his
own accord.  Nature had so arranged it that parents, or comrades,
usually found it necessary to arouse him with much shouting and
shaking--not unfrequently with kicks.  But there was a more powerful
influence than parents, comrades, or kicks at work that night.  Being
tired and sleepy, the party had carelessly made their beds in a hollow.
It was fair when they lay down.  Soon afterwards, a small but
exceedingly heavy rain descended like dew upon their unprotected heads.
It soaked their blankets and passed through.  It soaked their garments
and passed through.  It reached their skins, which it could not so
easily pass through, but was stopped and warmed before being absorbed.
A few uneasy turns and movements, with an occasional growl, was the
result--nothing more.  But when the density of the rain increased, and
the crevices in the soil turned into active water-courses, and their
hollow became a pool, Victor became, as we have said, half-awake.
Presently he awoke completely, sat up, and scratched his head.  It was
the power of a soft and gentle but persistent influence triumphantly
asserted.

"W'ass-'e-marrer?" asked Ian, without moving.

"Why," (yawning), "Lake Winnipeg is a trifle to this," said Victor.

"O-gor-o-sleep," returned Ian.

"Niagara have com to de plains!" exclaimed Rollin, rising to a sitting
posture in desperation.  "It have been rush 'longside of me spine for
two hours by de cloke.  Oui."

This aroused Ian, who also sat up disconsolate and yawned.

"It's uncomfortable," he remarked.

No one replied to so ridiculously obvious a truth, but each man slowly
rose and stumbled towards higher ground.  To add to their discomfort the
night was intensely dark; even if wide awake they could not have seen a
yard in front of them.

"Have you found a tree?" asked Victor.

"Oui--yes--to be sure," said Rollin angrily.  "Anyhow von branch of a
tree have found _me_, an' a'most split my head."

"Where is it?--speak, Ian; I can see nothing.  Is it--ah!  I've found it
too."

"Vid yoos head?" inquired Rollin, chuckling.

Victor condescended not to reply, but lay down under the partial shelter
of the tree, rolled himself up in his wet blanket, and went to sleep.
His companions followed suit.  Yes, reader, we can vouch for the truth
of this, having more than once slept damp and soundly in a wet blanket.
But they did not like it, and their spirits were down about zero when
they mounted at grey dawn and resumed the chase in a dull, dreadful
drizzle.

After a time the aspect of the scenery changed.  The rolling plain
became more irregular and broken than heretofore, and was more studded
with patches of woodland, which here and there almost assumed the
dignity of forests.

One evening the clouds broke; glimpses of the heavenly blue appeared to
gladden our travellers, and ere long the sun beamed forth in all its
wonted splendour.  Riding out into a wide stretch of open country, they
bounded away with that exuberance of feeling which is frequently the
result of sunshine after rain.

"It is like heaven upon earth," cried Victor, pulling up after a long
run.

"I wonder what heaven is like," returned Ian musingly.  "It sometimes
occurs to me that we think and speak far too little of heaven, which is
a strange thing, considering that we all hope to go there in the
long-run, and expect to live there for ever."

"Oh! come now, Mr Wiseman," said Victor, "I didn't mean to call forth a
sermon."

"Your remark, Vic, only brings out one of the curious features of the
case.  If I had spoken of buffalo-hunting, or riding, or boating, or
even of the redskin's happy hunting-grounds--anything under the sun or
above it--all would have been well and in order, but directly I refer to
_our own_ heaven I am sermonising!"

"Well, because it's so like the parsons," pleaded Victor.

"What then?  Were not the parsons, as you style them, sent to raise our
thoughts to God and heaven by preaching Christ?  I admit that _some_ of
them don't raise our thoughts high, and a few of them help rather to
drag our thoughts downward.  Still, as a class, they are God's servants;
and for myself I feel that I don't consider sufficiently what they have
to tell us.  I don't wish to sermonise; I merely wish to ventilate my
own thoughts and get light if I can.  You are willing to chat with me,
Vic, on all other subjects; why not on this?"

"Oh!  I've no objection, Ian; none whatever, only it's--it's--I say,
there seems to me to be some sort of brute moving down in the woods
there.  Hist! let's keep round by that rocky knoll, and I'll run up to
see what it is."

Victor did not mean this as a violent change of subject, although he was
not sorry to make the change.  His attention had really been attracted
by some animal which he said and hoped was a bear.  They soon galloped
to the foot of the knoll, which was very rugged--covered with rocks and
bushes.  Victor ascended on foot, while his comrades remained at the
bottom holding his horse.

The sight that met his eyes thrilled him.  In the distance, on a wooded
eminence, sat a huge grizzly bear.  The size of Victor's eyes when he
looked back at his comrades was eloquently suggestive, even if he had
not drawn back and descended the slope toward them on tiptoe and with
preternatural caution.

"A monstrous grizzly!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper--though the bear
was at beast half a mile off on the other side of the knoll.

The eyes of Ian surpassed those of Victor in the matter of dilation.

"Did he see you?"

"No; he was nibbling his paws when I gave him my last look."

"Now, comrades," said Ian, whose usually calm demeanour had given place
to intense, yet suppressed excitement, "it may seem selfish--though I
hope it is not--when I ask you to leave that bear entirely to me.  You
know, Vic, that your sister Elsie once expressed a wish for a
grizzly-bear collar, and at the time I inwardly resolved to get her one,
of my own procuring, if I could.  It is a whim, you know, but, in the
circumstances, I do hope that--that--"

"Ah! it is for une dame--une affair of de heart.  Bon!  You shall go in
an' vin," said the gallant Rollin.

"I don't know," said Victor dubiously; "it seems to me rather hard to
give up my chance of the first grizzly I've ever seen.  However, I'm
willing to do so on one condition--that Rollin and I go as near you as
may be without interfering.  You know--excuse me, Ian--what an awful bad
shot you are.  If you were to miss, you know--which you're sure to do--
and we were not there--eh?"

"All right, you shall go with me; but have a care, no helping of me
except in case of dire necessity."

This being agreed to, they made a wide circuit to reach a hollow.  In
its shelter they galloped swiftly towards the woodland, near the margin
of which the bear had been seen.  Arrived at a point which they judged
to be near the animal, they dismounted, fastened up their horses, and
prepared for war.

There were no encumbrances to lay aside, for they travelled in the
simplest possible costume, but Ian drew the charge of his gun, wiped the
piece carefully out with a bit of rag, made sure that the touch-hole was
clear, fixed in a new flint, and loaded carefully with ball.  The others
acted similarly.

"Empty de pan an' prime again ven you gits near," said Rollin.

Ian made some uncalled-for reference to eggs and the education of
Rollin's grandmother, tightened his belt, felt that the hatchet and
scalping-knife were handy behind him, and set off on his adventure,
followed by his companions at a considerable distance.

On drawing near to the outer edge of the woods he stooped slightly, and
trod with the extreme caution of an Indian.  Indeed, no red man could
have beaten Ian at woodcraft--except, of course, in the matter of
shooting.  He felt this defect keenly as he glided along, but never
faltered for an instant.  Elsie smiled at him as visibly as if she had
been there.  His mind was made up.

At the edge of the wood he saw the rough spot where the bear had been
seen, but no bear was visible.  He felt a sinking of the heart.  "It
must have heard me and run away," he thought, and hurried forward.  The
actual spot where it had been seen was reached, but Bruin was not there.
Disappointment rendered Ian somewhat impatient.  He entered the bushes
beyond the knoll hastily.  The bear had only changed its position, and
was wagging its head and nibbling its paws on the other side of these
bushes.  It heard a footstep, ceased to nibble and wag, and looked up
inquiringly.  Suddenly Macdonald burst through the bushes and stood
before him.

It is an open question whether the man or the beast was the more
surprised, for the former had given up all hope by that time.  But the
bear was first to recover self-possession, and advanced to meet the
intruder.

It is well known that the king of the western wilds is endowed with more
than average ferocity and courage.  He may perhaps let you alone if you
let him alone, but if you take him by surprise he is not prone to flee.
The bear in question was a magnificent specimen, with claws like the
fingers of a man.  Even in that moment of extreme peril Ian saw these
claws strung together and encircling Elsie's neck.

We say that the peril was extreme, for not only was the hunter a bad
shot, but the hunted was a creature whose tenacity of life is so great
that one shot, even if well placed, is not sufficient to kill it
outright.

No one knew all this better than Ian Macdonald, but Elsie smiled
approval, and Ian, being a matter-of-fact, unromantic fellow, clenched
his teeth with a snap and went down on one knee.  The bear quickened his
pace and came straight at him.  Ian raised his gun.  Then there came a
gush of feeling of some sort at his heart.  What if he should miss?
What if the gun should miss fire?  Certain death! he well knew that.  He
took deadly aim when the monster was within a few yards of him and fired
at the centre of its chest.  The ball took effect on the extreme point
of its nose, coursed under the skin over its forehead, and went out at
the back of its head.

Never before was a shot taken with a more demonstrative expression of
rage.  To say that the bear roared would be feeble.  A compounded
steam-whistle and bassoon might give a suggestive illustration.  The
pain must have been acute, for the creature fell on its knees, drove its
nose into the ground, and produced a miniature earthquake with a snort.
Then it sprang up and rushed at its foe.  Ian was reloading swiftly for
his life.  Vain hope.  Men used to breech-loaders can scarce understand
the slow operations of muzzle-loaders.  He had only got the powder in,
and was plucking a bullet from his pouch.  Another moment and he would
have been down, when crack! crack! went shots on either side of him, and
the bear fell with a ball from Victor in its heart and another from
Rollin in its spine.

Even thus fatally wounded it strove to reach its conquerors, and
continued to show signs of ungovernable fury until its huge life went
out.

Poor Ian stood resting on his gun, and looking at it, the picture of
despair.

"You hit him after all," said Victor, with a look of admiration at his
friend, not on account of the shooting, but of his dauntless courage.
"And of course," he continued, "the grizzly is yours, because you drew
first blood."

Ian did not reply at once, but shook his head gravely.

"If you and Rollin had not been here," he said, "I should have been dead
by this time.  No, Vic, no.  Do you think I would present Elsie with a
collar thus procured?  The bear belongs to you and Rollin, for it seems
to me that both shots have been equally fatal.  You shall divide the
claws between you, I will have none of them."

There was bitterness in poor Ian's spirit, for grizzly bears were not to
be fallen in with every day, and it might be that he would never have
another opportunity.  Even if he had, what could he do?

"I don't believe I could hit a house if it were running," he remarked
that night at supper.  "My only chance will be to wait till the bear is
upon me, shove my gun into his mouth, and pull the trigger when the
muzzle is well down his throat."

"That would be throttling a bear indeed," said Victor, with a laugh, as
he threw a fresh log on the fire.  "What say you, Rollin?"

"It vould bu'st de gun," replied the half-breed, whose mind, just then,
was steeped in tobacco smoke.  "Bot," he continued, "it vould be worth
vile to try.  Possiblement de bu'stin' of de gun in his troat might do
ver vell.  It vould give him con--con--vat you call him?  De ting vat
leetil chile have?"

"Contrariness," said Victor.

"Contradictiousness," suggested Ian; "they're both good long words,
after your own heart."

"Non, non!  Con--convulsions, dat is it.  Anyhow it vould injure his
digestiveness."

"Ha! ha! yes, so it would," cried Victor, tossing off a can of cold
water like a very toper.  "Well, boys, I'm off to sleep, my
digestiveness being uninjured as yet.  Good-night."

"What! without a pipe, Vic?"

"Come, now, don't chaff.  To tell you the truth, Ian, I've been acting
your part lately.  I've been preaching a sermon to myself, the text of
which was given to me by Herr Winklemann the night before we left the
buffalo-runners, and I've been considerably impressed by my own
preaching.  Anyhow, I mean to take my own advice--good-night, again."

Ian returned "good-night" with a smile, and, lying down beside him,
gazed long and thoughtfully through the trees overhead at the twinkling,
tranquil stars.  Michel Rollin continued to smoke and meditate for
another hour.  Then he shook the ashes out of his pipe, heaped fresh
logs on the declining fire, and followed his comrades to the land of
Nod.



CHAPTER TEN.

FATE OF THE BUFFALO-HUNTERS.

In vain did the pursuers search after the lost Tony.  Finding it
impossible to rediscover the trail, they made for the nearest post of
the fur-traders, from whom they heard of an Indian who had passed that
way in the direction of the Rocky Mountains, but the traders had taken
no special notice of the boy, and could tell nothing about him.  They
willingly, however, supplied the pursuers with provisions on credit, for
they knew Victor's father well by repute, and allowed them to join a
party who were about to ascend the Saskatchewan river.

On being further questioned, one of the traders did remember that the
hair of the boy seemed to him unusually brown and curly for that of a
redskin, but his reminiscences were somewhat vague.  Still, on the
strength of them, Victor and Ian resolved to continue the chase, and
Rollin agreed to follow.  Thus the summer and autumn passed away.

Meanwhile a terrible disaster had befallen the buffalo-hunters of the
Red River.

We have said that after disposing of the proceeds of the spring hunt in
the settlement, and thus securing additional supplies, it is the custom
of the hunters to return to the plains for the fall or autumn hunt,
which is usually expected to furnish the means of subsistence during the
long and severe winter.  But this hunt is not always a success, and when
it is a partial failure the gay, improvident, harum-scarum half-breeds
have a sad time of it.  Occasionally there is a total failure of the
hunt, and then starvation stares them in the face.  Such was the case at
the time of which we write, and the improvident habits of those people
in times of superabundance began to tell.

Many a time in spring had the slaughter of animals been so great that
thousands of their carcasses were left where they fell, nothing but the
tongues having been carried away by the hunters.  It was calculated that
nearly two-thirds of the entire spring hunt had been thus left to the
wolves.  Nevertheless, the result of that hunt was so great that the
quantity of fresh provisions--fat, pemmican, and dried meat--brought
into Red River, amounted to considerably over one million pounds weight,
or about two hundred pounds weight for each individual, old and young,
in the settlement.  A large proportion of this was purchased by the
Hudson's Bay Company, at the rate of twopence per pound, for the supply
of their numerous outposts, and the half-breed hunters pocketed among
them a sum of nearly 1200 pounds.  This, however, was their only market,
the sales to settlers being comparatively insignificant.  In the same
year the agriculturists did not make nearly so large a sum--but then the
agriculturists were steady, and their gains were saved, while the jovial
half-breed hunters were volatile, and their gains underwent the process
of evaporation.  Indeed, it took the most of their gains to pay their
debts.  Thus, with renewed supplies on credit, they took the field for
the fall campaign in little more than a month after their return from
the previous hunt.

It is not our purpose to follow the band step by step.  It is sufficient
to say that the season was a bad one; that the hunters broke up into
small bands when winter set in, and some of these followed the fortunes
of the Indians, who of course followed the buffalo as their only means
of subsistence.

In one of these scattered groups were Herr Winklemann and Baptiste
Warder--the latter no longer a captain, his commission having lapsed
with the breaking up of the spring hunt.  The plains were covered with
the first snows.  The party were encamped on a small eminence whence a
wide range of country could be seen.

"There is a small herd on the horizon," said Baptiste, descending from
the highest part of the hillock towards the fire where the German was
seated eating a scrap of dried meat.

"Zat is vell.  I vill go after dem."

He raised his bulky frame with a sigh, for he was somewhat weak and
dispirited--the band with which he hunted having been at the
starving-point for some days.  Winklemann clothed himself in a
wolf-skin, to which the ears and part of the head adhered.  A small
sledge, which may be described as a long thin plank with one end curled
up, was brought to him by a hungry-looking squaw.  Four dogs were
attached to it with miniature harness made to fit them.  When all was
ready the hunter flung himself flat on his face at full length on the
sledge, cracked his whip, and away went the dogs at full speed.  Herr
Winklemann was armed only with bow and arrows, such weapons being most
suitable for the work in hand.

Directing his course to a small clump of trees near to which the buffalo
were scraping away the yet shallow snow to reach their food, he soon
gained the shelter of the bushes, fastened up the dogs, and advanced
through the clump to the other side.

It was a fine sight to a hungry man.  About a dozen animals were
browsing there not far out of gunshot.  Winklemann at once went down on
all-fours, and arranged the large wolf-skin so that the legs hung down
over his own legs and arms, while the head was pulled over his eyes like
a hood.  Thus disguised, he crept into the midst of the unsuspicious
band.

The buffalo is not afraid of wolves.  He treats them with contempt.  It
is only when he is wounded, or enfeebled by sickness or old age, that
his sneaking enemy comes and sits down before him, licking his chops in
the hope of a meal.

A fat young cow cast a questioning glance at Winklemann as he approached
her.  He stopped.  She turned aside and resumed her feeding.  Then she
leaped suddenly into the air and fell quivering on the snow, with an
arrow up to the feathers in her side.  The hunter did not rise.  The
animals near to the cow looked at her a moment, as if in surprise at her
eccentric behaviour, and then went on feeding.  Again the hunter bent
his bow, and another animal lay dying on the plain.  The guardian bull
observed this, lifted his shaggy head, and moved that subtle index of
temper, his tail.  An ill-directed arrow immediately quivered in his
flank.  With a roar of rage he bounded into the air, tossed up his
heels, and seeing no enemy on whom to wreak his vengeance--for the wolf
was crouching humbly on the snow--he dashed wildly away, followed by the
rest of the astonished herd.

The whole camp had turned out by that time to resume their journey, and
advanced joyfully to meet the returning hunter.  As they passed one of
the numerous clumps of wood with which the plains were studded, another
herd of buffalo started suddenly into view.  Among other objects of
interest in the band of hunters, there happened to be a small child,
which was strapped with some luggage on a little sled and drawn by two
dogs.  These dogs were lively.  They went after the buffalo full swing,
to the consternation of the parents of the child.  It was their only
child.  If it had only been a fragment of their only child, the two dogs
could not have whisked it off more swiftly.  Pursuit was useless, yet
the whole band ran yelling after it.  Soon the dogs reached the heels of
the herd, and all were mixed pell-mell together,--the dogs barking, the
sled swinging to and fro, and the buffalo kicking.  At length a bull
gored one of the dogs; his head got entangled in the harness, and he
went off at a gallop, carrying the dog on his horns, the other suspended
by the traces, and the sled and child whirling behind him.  The enraged
creature ran thus for full half a mile before ridding himself of the
encumbrance, and many shots were fired at him without effect.  Both dogs
were killed, but, strange to say, the child was unhurt.

The supply of meat procured at this time, although very acceptable, did
not last long, and the group with which Winklemann was connected was
soon again reduced to sore straits.  It was much the same with the
scattered parties elsewhere, though they succeeded by hard work in
securing enough of meat to keep themselves alive.

In these winter wanderings after the buffalo, the half-breeds and their
families had travelled from 150 to 200 miles from the colony, but in the
midst of their privations they kept up heart, always hoping that the
sudden discovery of larger herds would ere long convert the present
scarcity into the more usual superabundance.  But it was otherwise
ordained.  On the 20th of December there was a fearful snowstorm, such
as had not been witnessed for years.  It lasted several days, drove the
buffalo hopelessly beyond the reach of the hunters, and killed most of
their horses.  What greatly aggravated the evil was the suddenness of
the disaster.  According to the account of one who was in Red River at
the time, and an eye-witness, the animals disappeared almost
instantaneously, and no one was prepared for the inevitable famine that
followed.  The hunters were at the same time so scattered that they
could render each other no assistance.  Indeed, the various groups did
not know whereabouts the others were.  Some were never found.  Here and
there whole families, despairing of life, weakened by want, and
perishing with cold, huddled themselves together for warmth.  At first
the heat of their bodies melted the snow and soaked their garments.
These soon froze and completed the work of destruction.  They died where
they lay.  Some groups were afterwards discovered thus frozen together
in a mass of solid ice.

While the very young and the feeble succumbed at once, the more robust
made a brave struggle for life, and, as always happens in cases of
extreme suffering, the good or evil qualities of men and women came out
prominently to view.  The selfish, caring only for themselves, forsook
their suffering comrades, seized what they could or dared, and thus
prolonged awhile their wretched lives.  The unselfish and noble-hearted
cared for others, sacrificed themselves, and in many cases were the
means of saving life.

Among these last were Baptiste Warder and Winklemann.

"I vill valk to de settlement," said the latter, one morning towards the
middle of January, as he rose from his lair and began to prepare
breakfast.

"I'll go with you," said Warder.  "It's madness to stop here.  Death
will be at our elbow anyhow, but he'll be sure to strike us all if we
remain where we are.  The meat we were lucky enough to get yesterday
will keep our party on short allowance for some time, and the men will
surely find something or other to eke it out while we push on and bring
relief."

"Goot," returned the German; "ve vill start after breakfast.  My lecks
are yet pretty strong."

Accordingly, putting on their snow-shoes, the two friends set out on a
journey such as few men would venture to undertake, and fewer could
accomplish, in the circumstances.

On the way they had terrible demonstration of the extent of suffering
that prevailed among their friends.

They had not walked twenty miles when they came on tracks which led them
to a group--a father, mother, and two sons--who were sitting on the snow
frozen to death.  In solemn silence the hunters stood for a few minutes
and looked at the sad sight, then turned and passed on.  The case was
too urgent to permit of delay.  Many lives hung on their speedy
conveyance of news to the settlement.  They bent forward, and with long
swinging strides sped over the dreary plains until darkness--not
exhaustion--compelled them to halt.  They carried with them a small
amount of pemmican, about half rations, trusting to meet with something
to shoot on the way.  Before daylight the moon rose.  They rose with it
and pushed on.  Suddenly they were arrested by an appalling yell.  Next
moment a man rushed from a clump of trees brandishing a gun.  He stopped
when within fifty yards, uttered another demoniacal yell, and took aim
at Warder.

Quick as thought the ex-captain brought his own piece to his shoulder.
He would have been too late if the gun of his opponent had not missed
fire.

"Stop! 'tis Pierre Vincent!" cried Winklemann, just in time to arrest
Warder's hand.

Vincent was a well-known comrade, but his face was so disfigured by dirt
and blood that they barely recognised him.  He flung away his gun when
it snapped, and ran wildly towards them.

"Come! come!  I have food, food! ha! ha! much food yonder in the bush!
My wife and child eat it! they are eating eating now! ha! ha!"

With another fierce yell the poor maniac--for such he had become--turned
off at a tangent, and ran far away over the plains.

They made no attempt to follow him; it would have been useless.  In the
bush they found his wife and child stone-dead.  Frequently during that
terrible walk they came on single tracks, which invariably showed that
the traveller had fallen several times, and at length taken to creeping.
Then they looked ahead, for they knew that the corpse of a man or woman
was not far in advance of them.

One such track led them to a woman with an infant on her back.  She was
still pretty strong, and trudged bravely over the snow on her
snow-shoes, while the little one on her back appeared to be quite
content with its lot, although pinched-looking in the face.

The men could not afford to help her on.  It would have delayed
themselves.  The words "life and death" seemed to be ringing constantly
in their ears.  But they spoke kindly to the poor woman, and gave her
nearly all their remaining stock of provisions, reserving just enough
for two days.

"I've travelled before now on short allowance," said Warder, with a
pitiful smile.  "We're sure to come across something before long.  If
not, we can travel empty for a bit."

"Goot; it vill make us lighter," said Winklemann, with a grave nod.

They parted from the woman, and soon left her out of sight behind.  She
never reached the settlement.  She and the child were afterwards found
dead within a quarter of a mile of Pembina.  From the report of the
party she had left, this poor creature must have travelled upwards of a
hundred miles in three days and nights before sinking in that terrible
struggle for life.

Warder and his companion did not require to diverge in order to follow
these tracks.  They all ran one way, straight for Red River--for home!
But there were _many_, very many, who never saw that home again.

One exception they overtook on their fourth day.  She was a middle-aged
woman, but her visage was so wrinkled by wigwam smoke, and she had such
a stoop, that she seemed very old indeed.

"Why, I know that figure," exclaimed Warder, on sighting her; "it's old
Liz, Michel Rollin's Scotch mother!"

So it turned out.  She was an eccentric creature, full of life, fire,
and fun, excessively short and plain, but remarkably strong.  She had
been forsaken by her nephew, she said.  Michel, dear Michel, would not
have left her in the lurch if he had been there.  But she would be at
home to receive Michel on his return.  That she would!  And she was
right.  She reached the settlement alive, though terribly exhausted.

Warder and Winklemann did not "come across" anything except one raven,
but they shot that and devoured it, bones and all.  Then they travelled
a day without food and without halt.  Next day they might reach the
settlement if strength did not fail, but when they lay down that night
Warder said he felt like going to die, and Winklemann said that his
"lecks" were now useless, and his "lunks" were entirely gone!



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TO THE RESCUE.

Elsie and Cora Ravenshaw were seated at a table in Willow Creek, with
their mother and Miss Trim, repairing garments, one night in that same
inclement January of which we have been writing.

Mr Ravenshaw was enjoying his pipe by the stove, and Louis Lambert was
making himself agreeable.  The old man was a little careworn.  No news
had yet been received of Tony or of Victor.  In regard to the latter he
felt easy; Victor could take care of himself, and was in good company,
but his heart sank when he thought of his beloved Tony.  What would he
not have given to have had him smashing his pipe or operating on his
scalp at that moment.

"It is an awful winter," observed Elsie, as a gust of wind seemed to
nearly blow in the windows.

"I pity the hunters in the plains," said Cora.  "They say a rumour has
come that they are starving."

"I heard of that, but hope it is not true," observed Lambert.

"Oh! they always talk of starving," said old Ravenshaw.  "No fear of
'em."

At that moment there was a sound of shuffling in the porch, the door was
thrown open, and a gaunt, haggard man, with torn, snow-sprinkled
garments, pale face, and bloodshot eyes, stood pictured on the
background of the dark porch.

"Baptiste Warder!" exclaimed Lambert, starting up.

"Ay, what's left o' me; and here's the remains o' Winklemann," said
Warder, pointing to the cadaverous face of the starving German, who
followed him.

Need we say that the hunters received a kindly welcome by the Ravenshaw
family, as they sank exhausted into chairs.  The story of starvation,
suffering, and death was soon told--at least in outline.

"You are hungry.  When did you eat last?" asked Mr Ravenshaw,
interrupting them.

"Two days ago," replied Warder, with a weary smile.

"It seems like two veeks," observed the German, with a sigh.

"Hallo!  Elsie, Cora, victuals!" cried the sympathetic old man, turning
quickly round.

But Elsie, whose perceptions were quick, had already placed bread and
beer on the table.

"Here, have a drink of beer first," said the host, pouring out a foaming
glass.

Warder shook his head.  Winklemann remarked that, "beer vas goot, ver
goot, but they had been used to vatter of late."

"Ah!" he added, after devouring half a slice of bread while waiting for
Cora to prepare another; "blessed brod an' booter!  Nobody can know vat
it is till he have starve for two veek--a--I mean two days; all de same
ting in my feel--"

The entrance of a huge bite put a sudden and full stop to the sentence.

"Why did you not stop at some of the houses higher up the river to
feed?" asked Lambert.

Warder explained that they meant to have done so, but they had missed
their way.  They had grown stupid, he thought, from weakness.  When they
lost the way they made straight for the river, guided by the pole-star,
and the first house they came in sight of was that of Willow Creek.

"How can the pole-star guide one?" asked Cora, in some surprise.

"Don't you know?" said Lambert, going round to where Cora sat, and
sitting down beside her.  "I will explain."

"If I did know I wouldn't ask," replied Cora coquettishly; "besides, I
did not put the question to _you_."

"Nay, but you don't object to my answering it, do you?"

"Not if you are quite sure you can do so correctly."

"I think I can, but the doubts which you and your sister so often throw
on my understanding make me almost doubt myself," retorted Lambert, with
a laughing glance at Elsie.  "You must know, then, that there is a
constellation named the Great Bear.  It bears about as much resemblance
to a bear as it does to a rattlesnake, but that's what astronomers have
called it.  Part of it is much more in the shape of a plough, and one of
the stars in that plough is the pole-star.  You can easily distinguish
it when once you know how, because two of the other stars are nearly in
line with it, and so are called `pointers.'  When you stand looking at
the pole-star you are facing the north, and of course, when you know
where the north is, you can tell all the other points of the compass."

It must not be supposed that the rest of the party listened to this
astronomical lecture.  The gallant Louis had sought to interest Elsie as
well as Cora, but Elsie was too much engrossed with the way-worn hunters
and their sad tale to think of anything else.  When they had eaten
enough to check the fierce cravings of hunger they related more
particulars.

"And now," said Warder, sitting erect and stretching his long arms in
the air as if the more to enjoy the delightful sensation of returning
strength, "we have pushed on at the risk of our lives to save time.
This news must be carried at once to the Governor.  The Company can help
us best in a fix like this."

"Of course, of course; I shall send word to him at once," said his host.

"All right, Baptiste," said Lambert, coming forward, "I expected you'd
want a messenger.  Here I am.  Black Dick's in the stable.  He'll be in
the cariole in ten minutes.  What shall I say to the Governor?"

"I'll go with you," answered Warder.

"So vill I," said Winklemann.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," retorted Ravenshaw.  "You both need
rest.  A sound sleep will fit you to do your work more actively in the
morning.  I myself will go to the fort."

"Only _one_ can go, at least in my cariole," remarked Lambert, "for it
only holds two, and no one can drive Black Dick but myself."

Baptiste Warder was immoveable; it ended in his going off in the cariole
with Lambert to inform the governor of the colony, who was also chief of
the Hudson's Bay Company in Red River, and to rouse the settlement.
They had to pass the cottage of Angus Macdonald on the way.

"Oh! wow!" cried that excitable old settler when he heard the news.
"Can it pe possible?  So many tead an' tying.  Oh! wow!--Here, Martha!
Martha! where iss that wuman?  It iss always out of the way she iss when
she's wantit.  Ay, Peegwish, you will do equally well.  Go to the
staple, man, an' tell the poy to put the mare in the cariole.  Make him
pe quick; it's slow he iss at the best, whatever."

Lambert did not wait to hear the remarks of Angus, but drove off at
once.  Angus put on his leather coat, fut cap, and mittens, and
otherwise prepared himself for a drive over the snow-clad plains to Fort
Garry, where the Governor dwelt, intending to hear what was going to be
done, and offer his services.

With similarly benevolent end in view, old Ravenshaw harnessed his horse
and made for the same goal, regardless alike of rheumatism, age, and
inclement weather.  At a certain point, not far from the creek, the old
trader's private track and that which led to the house of Angus
Macdonald united, and thereafter joined the main road, which road, by
the way, was itself a mere track beaten in the snow, with barely room
for two carioles to pass.  Now, it so happened that the neighbours came
up to the point of junction at the same moment.  Both were driving hard,
being eager and sympathetic about the sufferings of the plain-hunters.
To have continued at the same pace would have been to insure a meeting
and a crash.  One _must_ give way to the other!  Since the affair of the
knoll these two men had studiously cut each other.  They met every
Sabbath day in the same church, and felt this to be incongruous as well
as wrong.  The son of the one was stolen by savages.  The son of the
other was doing his utmost to rescue the child.  Each regretted having
quarrelled with the other, but pride was a powerful influence in both.
What was to be done?  Time for thought was short, for two fiery steeds
were approaching each other at the rate of ten miles an hour.  Who was
to give in?

"I'll see both carioles smashed to atoms first!" thought Ravenshaw,
grinding his teeth.

"She'll tie first," thought Angus, pursing his lips.

The instinct of self-preservation caused both to come to a dead and
violent halt when within six yards of the meeting-point.  A happy
thought burst upon Angus at that instant.

"Efter you, sir," he said, with a palpable sneer, at the same time
backing his horse slightly.

It was an expression of mock humility, and would become an evidence of
superior courtesy if Ravenshaw should go insolently on.  If, on the
other hand, he should take it well, a friendly reference to the roads or
the weather would convert the sneer into a mere nasal tone.

"Ah, thanks, thanks," cried Mr Ravenshaw heartily, as he drove past;
"bad news that about the plain-hunters.  I suppose you've heard it."

"Ay, it iss pad news--ferry pad news inteed, Mister Ruvnshaw.  It will
pe goin' to the fort ye are?"

"Yes; the poor people will need all the help we can give them."

"They wull that; oo ay."

Discourse being difficult in the circumstances, they drove the remainder
of the way in silence, but each knew that the breach between them was
healed, and felt relieved.  Angus did not, however, imagine that he was
any nearer to his desires regarding the knoll.  Full well did he
understand and appreciate the unalterable nature of Sam Ravenshaw's
resolutions, but he was pleased again to be at peace, for, to say truth,
he was not fond of war, though ready to fight on the smallest
provocation.

Baptiste Warder was right in expecting that the Company would lend their
powerful aid to the rescue.

The moment the Governor heard of the disaster, he took immediate and
active steps for sending relief to the plains.  Clothing and provisions
were packed up as fast as possible, and party after party was sent out
with these.  But in the nature of things the relief was slow.  We have
said that some of the hunters and their families had followed the
Indians and buffalo to a distance of between 150 and 200 miles.  The
snow was now so deep that the only means of transport was by
dog-sledges.  Dogs, being light and short-limbed, can travel where
horses cannot, but even dogs require a track, and the only way of making
one on the trackless prairie, or in the forest, is by means of a man on
snow-shoes, who walks ahead of the dogs and thus "beats the track."  The
men employed, however, were splendid and persevering walkers, and their
hearts were in the work.

Both Samuel Ravenshaw and Angus Macdonald gave liberally to the cause;
and each obtaining a team of dogs, accompanied one of the relief parties
in a dog-cariole.  If the reader were to harness four dogs to a
slipper-bath, he would have a fair idea of a dog-cariole and team.
Louis Lambert beat the track for old Ravenshaw.  He was a recognised
suitor at Willow Creek by that time.  The old gentleman was well
accustomed to the dog-cariole, but to Angus it was new--at least in
experience.

"It iss like as if she was goin' to pathe," he remarked, with a grim
smile, on stepping into the machine and sitting down, or rather
reclining luxuriously among the buffalo robes.

The dogs attempted to run away with him, and succeeded for a hundred
yards or so.  Then they got off the track, and discovered that Angus was
heavy.  Then they stopped, put out their tongues, and looked humbly back
for the driver to beat the track for them.

A stout young half-breed was the driver.  He came up and led the way
until they reached the open plains, where a recent gale had swept away
the soft snow, and left a long stretch that was hard enough for the dogs
to walk on without sinking.  The team was fresh and lively.

"She'd petter hold on to the tail," suggested Angus.

The driver assented.  He had already left the front, and allowed the
cariole to pass him, in order to lay hold of the tail-line and check the
pace, but the dogs were too sharp for him.  They bolted again, ran more
than a mile, overturned the cariole, and threw its occupant on the snow,
after which they were brought up suddenly by a bush.

On the way the travellers passed several others of the wealthy settlers
who were going personally to the rescue.  Sympathy for the plain-hunters
was universal.  Every one lent a willing hand.  The result was that the
lives of hundreds were saved, though many were lost.  Their sufferings
were so great that some died on their road to the colony, after being
relieved at Pembina.  Those found alive had devoured their horses, dogs,
raw hides, leather, and their very moccasins.  Mr Ravenshaw and his
neighbour passed many corpses on the way, two of which were scarcely
cold.  They also passed at various places above forty sufferers in seven
or eight parties, who were crawling along with great difficulty.  To
these they distributed the provisions they had brought with them.  At
last the hunters were all rescued and conveyed to the settlement--one
man, with his wife and three children, having been dug out of the snow,
where they had been buried for five days and nights.  The woman and
children recovered, but the man died.

Soon after this sad event the winter began to exhibit unwonted signs of
severity.  It had begun earlier, and continued later than usual.  The
snow averaged three feet deep in the plains and four feet in the woods,
and the cold was intense, being frequently down to forty-five degrees
below zero of Fahrenheit's scale, while the ice measured between five
and six feet in thickness on the rivers.

But the great, significant, and prevailing feature of that winter was
snow.  Never within the memory of man had there been such heavy,
continuous, persistent snow.  It blocked up the windows so that men had
constantly to clear a passage for daylight.  It drifted up the doors so
that they were continually cutting passages for themselves to the world
outside.  It covered the ground to such an extent that fences began to
be obliterated, and landmarks to disappear, and it weighted the roofs
down until some of the weaker among them bid fair to sink under the
load.

"A severe winter" was old Mr Ravenshaw's usual morning remark as he
went to the windows, pipe in hand, before breakfast.  To which his
better half invariably replied, "Never saw anything like it before;" and
Miss Trim remarked, "It is awful."

"It snows hard--whatever," was Angus Macdonald's usual observation about
the same hour.  To which his humble and fast friend Peegwish--who
assisted in his kitchen--was wont to answer, "Ho!" and glare solemnly,
as though to intimate that his thoughts were too deep for utterance.

Thus the winter passed away, and when spring arrived it had to wage an
unusually fierce conflict before it gained the final victory over ice
and snow.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

VICTORY!

But before that winter closed, ay, before it began, a great victory was
gained, which merits special mention here.  Let us retrace our steps a
little.

One morning, while Ian Macdonald was superintending the preparation of
breakfast in some far-away part of the western wilderness, and Michel
Rollin was cutting firewood, Victor Ravenshaw came rushing into camp
with the eager announcement that he had seen the footprints of an
_enormous_ grizzly bear!

At any time such news would have stirred the blood of Ian, but at that
time, when the autumn was nearly over, and hope had almost died in the
breast of our scholastic backwoodsman, the news burst upon him with the
thrilling force of an electric shock.

"Now, Ian, take your gun and go in and win," said Victor with
enthusiasm, for the youth had been infected with Rollin's spirit of
gallantry.

"You see," Rollin had said to Victor during a confidential
_tete-a-tete_, "ven a lady is in de case ye must bow de head.  Ian do
love your sister.  Ver goot.  Your sister do vish for a bar-claw collar.
Ver goot.  Vell, de chance turn up at last--von grizzly bar do appear.
Who do shot 'im?  Vy, Ian, certaintly.  Mais, it is pity he am so
'bominibly bad shot!"

Victor, being an unselfish fellow, at once agreed to this; hence his
earnest advice that Ian should take his gun and go in and win.  But Ian
shook his head.

"My dear boy," he said, with a sigh, "it's of no use my attempting to
shoot a bear, or anything else.  I don't know what can be wrong with my
vision, I can see as clear and as far as the best of you, and I'm not
bad, you'll allow, at following up a trail over hard ground; but when it
comes to squinting along the barrel of a gun I'm worse than useless.
It's my belief that if I took aim at a haystack at thirty yards I'd miss
it.  No, Vic, I must give up the idea of shooting altogether."

"What! have you forgotten the saying, `Faint heart never won fair
lady?'" exclaimed Victor, in surprise.

"Nay, lad, my memory is not so short as that, neither is my heart as
faint as you seem to think it.  I do intend to go in and win, but I
shall do it after a fashion of my own, Vic."

Rollin, who came up at the moment and flung a bundle of sticks on the
fire, demanded to know what "vas the vashion" referred to.

"That I won't tell you at present, boys," said Ian; "but, if you have
any regard for me, you'll make me a solemn promise not in any way to
interfere with me or my plans unless you see me in actual and imminent
danger of losing my life."

"Jus' so," said Rollin, with a nod, "ye vill not step in to de reskoo
till you is at de very last gasp."

Having obtained the requisite promise, Ian set off with his comrades to
examine the bear's track.  There could be but one opinion as to the size
of the grizzly which had made it.  As Victor had said, it was enormous,
and showed that the animal had wandered about hither and thither, as if
it had been of an undecided temperament.  Moreover the track was quite
fresh.

Of course there was much eager conversation about it among the friends;
carried on in subdued tones and whispers, as if they feared that the
bear might be listening in a neighbouring bush.  After discussing the
subject in every point of view, and examining the tracks in every light,
they returned to the camp, at Victor's suggestion, to talk it over more
fully, and make preparations for the hunt.  Ian, however, cut short
their deliberations by reminding his comrades of their promise, and
claiming the strict fulfilment of it.

"If this thing is to be undertaken by me," he said, "I must have it all
my own way and do the thing entirely by myself."

"Nobody objects to your having it all your own way," retorted Victor,
somewhat testily, "but why should you be so secret about it?  Why not
give a fellow some sort of idea what your plan is, so that, if we can't
have the pleasure of helping you, we may at least enjoy the comfort of
thinking about it?"

"No, Vic, no.  I won't give you a hint, because my plan is entirely new,
and you would laugh at it; at least it is new to me, for I never heard
of its having been attempted with grizzlies before, though I have heard
of it in connection with other bears.  Besides, I may fail, in which
case the less that is known about my failure the better.  Only this much
will I say, the idea has been suggested to me by the formation of the
land hereabouts.  You know there is a gap or pass in the rocks just
ahead of us, through which the bear seems to have passed more than once
in the course of his rambles.  Well, that gap is the spot where I will
make my attempt.  If you follow me to that gap I will at once return to
camp and let you manage the matter yourselves."

"Well, well, do as you please," said Victor, with a laugh, "and the
sooner you set about it the better.  Rollin and I will ride away some
miles in the opposite direction and see if we can't get hold of a wild
goose for supper."

"Ha! perhaps de grizzly vill get hold of anoder and a vilder goose for
supper," said Rollin, with a shake of his head.

When his companions had departed, Ian Macdonald cleaned his gun
carefully and loaded with ball; then placing his axe in his belt beside
his scalping-knife, he proceeded with long and rapid strides towards the
gap or pass above referred to.  The bear's track led through this pass,
which was a narrow cut, not more than thirty feet wide, in a steep rocky
ridge with which the country at that place was intersected for a
considerable distance.  The ridge itself, and the pass by which it was
divided, were thickly covered with trees and dense undergrowth.

The floor of the pass was level, although rugged, and the rocks on
either side rose in a sheer precipice, so that whoever should attempt to
penetrate without wings to the region beyond must needs go by that
narrow cut.

Arrived at the middle of the pass, where it was narrowest, Ian leant his
gun against the precipice on one side, took off his coat, tucked up his
sleeves, grasped his axe, and attacked a mighty tree.  Like Ulysses of
old, he swung the axe with trenchant power and skill.  Huge chips flew
circling round.  Ere long a goodly tree creaked, groaned, and finally
fell with a crash upon the ground.  It was tough work.  Ian heaved a
sigh of satisfaction and wiped his streaming brow as he surveyed the
fallen monarch.  There was another king of the same size near to the
opposite precipice, which he felled in the same way.  Both monarchs
mingled and severely injured their royal heads in the middle of the
pass, which thus became entirely blocked up, for our woodsman had so
managed that the trees fell right across it.

Next, Ian attacked the united heads, and with great labour hewed a
passage through them, near to a spot where a large boulder lay.
Selecting another forest king, Ian cut it so that one end of it fell on
the boulder.  The result of all this hewing and guiding of the falling
monarchs was that the only available track through the pass was a hole
about four feet in diameter, with a tree of great weight suspended above
it by the boulder.

To chop off the branches and convert this latter tree into a log did not
take long.  Neither did it take much time or exertion to fashion a sort
of support, or trigger, in the shape of a figure 4, immediately under
the log, so as to obstruct the hole before mentioned.  But to lower the
log gently from the boulder on to this trigger without setting it off
was a matter of extreme difficulty, requiring great care and much time,
for the weight of the log was great, and if it should once slip to the
ground, ten Ian Macdonalds could not have raised it up again.  It was
accomplished at last, however, and several additional heavy logs were
leaned upon the main one to increase its weight.

"If he returns this way at all, he will come in the evening," muttered
Ian to himself, as he sat down on a stump and surveyed his handiwork
with a smile of satisfaction.  "But perhaps he may not come back till
morning, in which case I shall have to watch here all night, and those
impatient geese in the camp will be sure to disturb us on the plea that
they feared I had been killed--bah! and perhaps he won't come at all!"

This last idea was not muttered; it was only thought, but the thought
banished the smile of satisfaction from Ian's face.  In a meditative
mood he took up his gun, refreshed the priming and slightly chipped the
flint, so as to sharpen its edge and make sure of its striking fire.

By that time it was long past noon, and the hunter was meditating the
propriety of going to a neighbouring height to view the surrounding
country, when a slight noise attracted his attention.  He started,
cocked his gun, glared round in all directions, and held his breath.

The noise was not repeated.  Gradually the frown of his brows melted,
the glare of his eyes abated, the tension of his muscles was relaxed,
and his highly-wrought feelings escaped in a long-drawn sigh.

"Pshaw 'twas nothing.  No bear in its senses would roam about at such an
hour, considering the row I have been kicking up with hacking and
crashing.  Come, I'll go to the top of that crag, and have a look
round."

He put on his coat and belt, stuck his axe and knife into the latter,
shouldered his gun, and went nimbly up the rocky ascent on his left.

Coming out on a clear spot at the crag which had attracted him, he could
see the whole pass beneath him, except the spot where his trap had been
laid.  That portion was vexatiously hidden by an intervening clump of
bushes.  Next moment he was petrified, so to speak, by the sight of a
grizzly bear sauntering slowly down the pass as if in the enjoyment of
an afternoon stroll.

No power on earth--except, perhaps, a glance from Elsie--could have
unpetrified Ian Macdonald at that moment.  He stood in the
half-crouching attitude of one about to spring over the cliff--
absolutely motionless--with eyes, mouth, and nostrils wide open, as if
to afford free egress to his spirit.

Not until the bear had passed slowly out of sight behind the intervening
bushes was he disenchanted.  Then, indeed, he leaped up like a startled
deer, turned sharp round, and bounded back the way he had come, with as
much caution and as little noise as was compatible with such vigorous
action.

Before he had retraced his steps ten yards, however, he heard a crash!
Well did he know what had caused it.  His heart got into his threat
somehow.  Swallowing it with much difficulty, he ran on, but a roar such
as was never uttered by human lungs almost stopped his circulation.  A
few seconds brought Ian within view of his trap, and what a sight
presented itself!

A grizzly bear, which seemed to him the hugest, as it certainly was at
that moment the fiercest, that ever roamed the Rocky Mountains, was
struggling furiously under the weight of the ponderous tree, with its
superincumbent load of logs.  The monster had been caught by the small
of the back--if such a back can be said to have possessed a small of any
kind--and its rage, mingled as it must have been with surprise, was
awful to witness.

The whole framework of the ponderous trap trembled and shook under the
influence of the animal's writhings.  Heavy though it was, the bear
shook it so powerfully at each spasm of rage, that it was plainly too
weak to hold him long.  In the event of his breaking out, death to the
trapper was inevitable.

Ian did not hesitate an instant.  His chief fear at the moment was that
his comrades at the camp might have heard the roaring--distant though
they were from the spot--and might arrive in time to spoil, by sharing,
his victory.

Victory?  Another struggle such as that, and victory would have rested
with the bear!  Ian resolved to make sure work.  He would put missing
out of the question.  The tremendous claws that had already worked a
small pit in the earth reminded him of the collar and of Elsie.  Leaping
forward, he thrust the point of his gun into the ear of the infuriated
animal and pulled the trigger.  He was almost stunned by the report and
roar, together with an unwonted shock that sent him reeling backward.

We know not how a good twist-barrelled gun would behave if its muzzle
were thus stopped, but the common Indian gun used on this occasion was
not meant to be thus treated.  It was blown to pieces, and Ian stood
gazing in speechless surprise at the fragment of wood remaining in his
hand.  How far it had injured the bear he could not tell, but the shot
had not apparently abated its power one jot, for it still heaved upwards
in a paroxysm of rage, and with such force as nearly to overthrow the
complex erection that held it down.  Evidently there was no time to
lose.

Ian drew his axe, grasped it with both hands, raised himself on tiptoe,
and brought it down with all his might on the bear's neck.

The grizzly bear is noted for tenacity of life.  Ian had not hit the
neck-bone.  Instead of succumbing to the tremendous blow, it gave the
handle of the axe a vicious twist with its paw, which jerked the hunter
violently to the ground.  Before he could recover himself, the claws
which he coveted so much were deep in his right thigh.  His presence of
mind did not forsake him even then.  Drawing his scalping-knife, he
wrenched himself round, and twice buried the keen weapon to the haft in
the bear's side.

Just then an unwonted swimming sensation came over Ian; his great
strength seemed suddenly to dissipate, and the bear, the claw collar,
even Elsie, faded utterly from his mind.

The stars were shining brightly in the calm sky, and twinkling with
pleasant tranquillity down upon his upturned countenance when
consciousness returned to Ian Macdonald.

"Ah, Vic!" he murmured, with a long sad sigh; "I've had such a splendid
dream!"

"Come, that's right, old boy.  Here, have another mouthful," said
Victor, holding a tin can to his friend's lips.  "It's only tea, hot and
strong--the best thing in the world to refresh a wounded man; and after
such a fight--"

"What!" exclaimed Ian, starting and sitting bolt upright, while he gazed
in the faces of his two comrades.  "Is it true?  _Have_ I killed the--
the--grizzly?"

"Killed him!" exclaimed Victor, rising; "I should think you have."

"Killed 'im!" echoed Rollin.  "You's killed 'im two or tree time over;
vy, you's axed 'im, stabbed 'im, shotted 'im, busted 'im, squashed 'im--
ho!--"

"Am I much damaged?" inquired Ian, interrupting, for he felt weak.

"Oh! no--noting whatsocomever.  Only few leetil holes in you's legs.  Be
bedder in a veek."

"Look here," said Victor, kneeling beside the wounded man and presenting
to him a piece of wood on which were neatly arranged a row of formidable
claws.  "I knew you would like to see them."

"How good of you, Vic!  It was thoughtful of you, and kind.  Put them
down before me--a little nearer--there,--so."

Ian gazed in speechless admiration.  It was not that he was vain of the
achievement; he was too sensible and unselfish for that; but it was
_such_ a pleasure to think of being able, after all, and in spite of his
bad shooting, to present Elsie with a set of claws that were greatly
superior to those given to her mother by Louis Lambert--the finest, in
short, that he had ever seen.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A CUNNING DEVICE ENDS IN FAILURE FOLLOWED BY DESTRUCTION.

In a previous chapter it has been told how the long hard winter of that
year, (1826), had passed away, after an unwontedly severe tussle with
the spring.  The prophets of the land now began to hold up their heads
and look owlishly wise, for their predictions were evidently about to be
fulfilled.

Had not old Sam Ravenshaw said all through the winter that "something
would come of it"?  Was it not the daily remark of Angus Macdonald that
such a state of things, "could not go on for ever--whatever"?  Had not
Peegwish glared prophecy with a degree of solemnity that rendered words
not only impossible, but unnecessary? and had not Miss Trim asserted
that dreadful consequences of some sort were _sure_ to follow?

Dreadful consequences did follow, and they began with a fine warm day.
For a considerable time the fields of snow had been subjected to the
influence of the blazing sun, and had been greatly diminished in depth.
The day in question, however, was so very warm that Louis Lambert was
induced to take his horse and gun with a view to wolf-hunting on the
plains.  The hard crust formed on the snow's surface by the partial
meltings of early spring is sufficiently strong to bear the weight of a
wolf, but will not support a horse.  Wolves, therefore, roam about with
ease and at will at that period, while horses are obliged to keep to
beaten tracks.  When, however, the thaws set in, the case is reversed.
The wolf, with his short limbs, flounders laboriously in the drifts of
soft snow, while the horse, with his long and powerful legs, can gallop
in spite of these.  Thus wolf-hunting becomes, for a time, possible.

Louis Lambert was fond of the chase.  He was also fond of courting, and,
resolving to combine the two, galloped away to the abode of old
Ravenshaw.  He had been there so often of late that he felt half ashamed
of this early morning visit.  Lovers easily find excuses for visits.  He
resolved to ask if Herr Winklemann had been seen passing that morning,
as he wished his companionship on the plains--the shallow deceiver!

"Good-morning, Cora," he said, on entering the hall.

Elsie, who stood at the window with her back to the door, turned quickly
round.

"Oh, I beg pardon," he said, with a slightly confused air; "I thought
you were Cora, and--"

"Well," interrupted Elsie, with a hurt look that accorded ill with a
twinkle in her eyes; "I think you might know the difference between me
and Cora by this time, though you only saw my back."

"Ah, Elsie!" returned the youth, as he shook hands, "you ought in
fairness to make allowance for the effects of spring.  You know full
well that the glare of the sun on the snow half blinds a fellow, so that
even when, when--"

"Come, now, don't search about in your empty brain for one of your
unmeaning compliments, but say at once what brings you here at so early
an hour.  Has a war party of Sioux come down on us, or is the river
about to break up?"

"War-parties of Sioux are no doubt prowling about the plains somewhere,"
returned Lambert, with a smile, "and the ice will go soon if this heat
continues; but neither of these things brought me here.  The truth is, I
came to ask if Winklemann has been seen to pass your windows this
morning?"

"The truth?" repeated Elsie, with a searching look.

"Well," replied the youth, with a laugh, "I came also to see you and--
and--Cora."

"And father also, I suppose?"

"Why, Elsie, you are unusually sharp this morning; but I really do wish
to know if Winklemann has been seen, because he had left home when I
passed his house, and I want him to hunt with me."

"Then I may tell you that he passed our window not ten minutes before
your arrival, going in the direction of the Lower Fort.  He rides fast,
as you know, so if you would catch him up you must follow quickly."

The young man stood for a moment undecided, then, perceiving that Elsie
gave him no encouragement to remain, he bade her adieu and rode away.

"Louis is remarkably fond of coming here," said Elsie to Cora, who
entered the room a few minutes later, "but he did not come to see _us_
this morning.  He only came to ask after Herr Winklemann."

Cora laughed, but gave no further evidence of the state of her mind.

Just then Peegwish the Indian entered.  He walked towards the sisters
with that solemn dignity of manner peculiar to the North American
savage, but the intensified solemnity of his looks and a certain
unsteadiness in his gait rather marred the dignity.

"Peegwish," said Elsie, going towards him with a grieved look, "you have
been drinking beer again."

The Indian protested, in very bad English, that he had not tasted beer
since the previous Christmas; whereupon Elsie proceeded to administer an
earnest reproof to the muddled hypocrite, for she was really anxious to
save him from the destruction which had already overtaken many of his
red brethren through the baleful influence of fire-water; but Peegwish
was just then in no condition to appreciate her remarks.  To all she
said his only reply was that he wanted "bally."

"You want bally?" returned Elsie, with a puzzled look.

"Yis--bally," he repeated, and a gleam of indescribable slyness broke
like a sunbeam on his solemn visage as he said it.

"What can he mean by bally, Cora?"

"Perhaps he means barley."

"Ho!" exclaimed the Indian, with emphasis, by which he meant, "You're
right."

But Elsie had no barley to give him.  She tried to find out what he
wanted to do with the barley, but Peegwish was not communicative.  The
gleam of cunning faded from his mahogany countenance, and he relapsed
into a state of impenetrable wisdom, in which condition he retired, and
betook himself to the upper part of the settlement, near Fort Garry, in
quest of "bally."  Here he found the people in a state of considerable
excitement owing to the sudden and unusual rise of the river.

At Fort Garry the Assinaboine River joins the Red River, and flows with
it into Lake Winnipeg.  At the period of which we write, (the month of
May), both rivers were yet covered with the icy garment--between four
and five feet thick--under which they had gone to rest five or six
months before.  The vast accumulation of snow which had fallen that
winter was melted so fast that the Red River had risen with terrible
rapidity, and it was obvious, from the ominous complainings of the
"thick-ribbed ice," that a burst-up of unwonted violence was impending.
The strength of the ice, however, was so great that it rose with the
swelling waters without breaking until nearly on a level with the top of
the river banks.  In some places, where the banks were low, the pent-up
floods broke forth and swamped the land, but as yet little damage had
been done.

Of course the alarm of the settlers was considerable.  Rumours of former
floods which had devastated the surrounding plains were rife, and those
of the people whose houses stood on the lower grounds began to remove
their goods and chattels to higher places.  Others delayed doing so in
the belief that the river would not rise much higher, at all events that
it would subside as soon as the ice broke up and cleared away to Lake
Winnipeg.  Some there were whose dwellings stood on high ground, and who
professed to have no belief in floods at all.

In other circumstances Peegwish would have noted the state of things
that prevailed, but at that time his faculties were steeped in beer.
For some days past they had been in this condition, but his supply was
exhausted, and people who knew his propensity refused to give him more.
Peegwish, therefore, being a somewhat resolute savage, resolved to adopt
a course which would render him independent.  Chuckling to himself at
the depth and cunning of his intended course of action, he went among
the farmers begging for "bally"!  Some to whom he appealed treated him
facetiously, others turned him away from their doors, being too anxious
about the impending flood to listen to him.  At last he found a
soft-hearted soul in the person of Michel Rollin's mother, old Liz, who
dwelt in a very small log-hut on a knoll at a considerable height above
the river.

"What d'ee want wi' the barley?" demanded old Liz, who, besides being
amiable, had a feeling of kindness for the man with whom her absent son
had for years been in the habit of hunting.

"To heat 'im," replied the Indian.

"To eat it," echoed the sturdy little woman; "weel, come in.  I can
spare some, but dinna mak' a noise, Daddy's sleepin'."

The savage entered with solemn though wavering caution.  Old though she
was, Liz had a living father.  He was so very ancient, that if he had
dwelt in Egypt he would probably have been taken for a live mummy.  He
sat in the chimney corner, in an arm-chair to which Liz had tied him to
prevent his falling into the fire.  He smiled and nodded at the fire
when awake, and snored and nodded at it when asleep.  Beyond this, and a
grateful recognition of his daughter's attentions, he did and said
nothing.  Gazing at Daddy, Peegwish fell into an owlish reverie, from
which he was aroused by old Liz putting a small sack of barley on the
ground before him.  The Indian received it with thanks, threw it on his
shoulder, and with an expression of unalterable determination on his
visage, returned to his own home.

The home of Peegwish was dilapidated like himself.  It stood on a
portion of ground belonging to Angus Macdonald, and was very near to the
river's brink.  It was a mere log-cabin of the smallest dimensions,
having one low door and one glassless window.  The window also served
the purpose of a chimney.  Its furniture was in keeping with its
appearance--a stool, a couple of blankets, two little heaps of brushwood
for beds, a kettle or two, a bag of pemmican, an old flint gun, two
pairs of snow-shoes, a pair of canoe-paddles, a couple of very dirty
bundles, and an old female.  The latter was the dirtiest piece of
furniture in the establishment.  She was sister to Peegwish, and was
named by him Wildcat.

Despite appearances, the hut was comfortably warm, for Wildcat--who, to
do her justice, had been grossly misnamed--was fond of heat.  She
devoted the chief part of her existence to the collection of fuel, most
of the remainder being spent in making moccasins, etcetera, and cooking.

"Put on the pot, Wildcat," said Peegwish on entering, as he threw down
the sack of barley.

The woman obeyed with alacrity.  The fire burned on the earthen floor in
primitive style.  Erecting three sticks over it in the tripod form, she
hung a pot therefrom, filled it with water, and awaited further orders.
Knowing her brother's cast of mind well, she refrained from questioning,
though she perceived from the peculiar cunning of his looks that
something unusual occupied his mind.  Peegwish saw that Wildcat's
curiosity was aroused, and resolved to keep it in that condition.  He
had learned the fact that beer was made from barley, and had resolved,
thenceforth, to brew his own beer; but no hint of this did he permit to
escape him.  He even went to the other extreme, and became unusually
communicative on subjects remote from beer.  He told how that the people
up the river were being frightened by the rise in the water; how he had
met Lambert and Winklemann going to hunt wolves; how these Nimrods had
been obliged to change their minds and turn back for the purpose of
looking after their property; and, in short, he wandered as far from the
subject of beer and brewing as possible.

His reference to the rise of the river, however, turned Wildcat's
thoughts to the fact that the ice in their immediate neighbourhood had
been forced up in a manner that caused her some anxiety.  She mentioned
her fears to Peegwish, but that worthy was too deeply immersed in his
experiments just then to care much for anything else.  To her remarks he
merely replied by a solemn shake of the head and an owlish gaze into the
big pot.

Soon the water in the pot began to boil.  Peegwish put in a large
proportion of barley, lighted his pipe, and sat down to await the result
with the patience of a Stoic.  Wildcat sat beside him with equal
patience.  An hour passed, Peegwish dipped a wooden spoon into the pot
and tasted.  The result was not satisfactory--it burnt his lips.  He let
the spoonful cool, and tried again.  The liquid was marvellously like
barley-broth, with which delicacy he was well acquainted.  Another hour
passed; again he dipped the spoon, and again met with disappointment,
for his brew was not yet beer.  The sun went down, the moon arose, the
stars came out, and still Peegwish and Wildcat sat watching and dozing
over the big pot.

At last the former bade the latter watch alone while he slept.  He lay
back where he sat and slumbered instantly.  Wildcat obeyed orders by
heaping fresh logs on the fire and following suit.  They snored in
concert.

The night advanced; the uneasy grindings of the ice increased; the
tinkling of a thousand snow-born rills filled the air with liquid
melody.  The sub-glacial murmuring of many waters filled many hearts
with anxious care, and numerous households near the river's brink sat up
the live-long night to watch--perhaps to pray.  Intermittent cracking of
the ice kept up the sound, as it were, of spattering musketry, and
occasional loud reports were interspersed like the thunder of heavy
guns.

At grey dawn Peegwish awoke, looked slowly round, observed his sister
asleep, and seized her by the nose.  She awoke, rose hastily, and
stirred the fire.  An inspection of the big pot showed that its contents
had become barley porridge.  Even Peegwish's imagination failed to
regard it as beer.  But Peegwish had been somewhat sobered by his sleep.
Hearing the ominous sounds on the river he jumped up and ran outside.
The sight that presented itself was sufficiently alarming.  During the
night the water had risen six feet, and the ice had been raised to a
level with the floor of the Indian's hut.  But this was not the worst.
A short tongue of land just above the hut had up to that time formed a
sort of breakwater to the dwelling.  Now, however, the ice had been
forced quite over the barrier by the irresistible pressure behind, and
even while he gazed a great wedge of ice, nearly five feet thick and
several yards in length, was being reared up like a glittering obelisk,
and forced slowly but surely down upon the hut.

Peegwish had not recovered from his first surprise when the obelisk
broke off by its own weight and fell in a mass of ruins, whilst the ice
behind kept thrusting with terrible force towards him.

If Peegwish was sluggish by nature his malady was evidently not
incurable.  He uttered a shout, and leaped back into his hut like a
panther.  His sister came out, gave one glance at the river, became
wild-cattish for the first time in her life, and sprang after her
brother.

A few seconds later and the pair reappeared, bearing some of their poor
possessions to a place of safety higher up the bank.  They returned for
more, and in a very few minutes had the whole of their worldly wealth
removed from their doomed edifice.  Then they sat down on the bank, and
sadly watched the destruction of their home.

From their point of view they could see that the main body of ice on the
river was still unbroken, and that it was merely a huge tongue, or
needle, which had been thrust up at that point by the form of the land
above referred to.  The shattered masses were soon forced against the
side of the hut.  There was a slight pause and a creaking of timbers;
then the ice slipped upwards and rose above the roof.  More ice came
down from above--slowly grinding.  Again there was a pause.  The
creaking timbers began to groan, the hut leaned gently over.  One of the
door-posts snapped, the other sloped inwards, the roof collapsed, the
sides went in, the ice passed over all, and the hut of Peegwish was
finally obliterated from off the face of the earth.  So, a giant with
his foot might slowly and effectually crush the mansion of a snail!



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE FLOOD BEGINS TO DO ITS WORK.

"It is very sad that the hut of poor Peegwish has been carried away,"
observed Miss Martha Macdonald, while presiding at the breakfast-table.

"Yes, it iss fery sad," responded Angus Macdonald, in a somewhat
unamiable tone; "but it iss more sad that he 

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