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