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.