"Ay, boy, but the water has come more than twelve miles over the plains,
for I know this spot well. It must be deep--very deep--at the Willow
Creek."
"Vat shall ye do vidout bot or canoe?"
Rollin's question was not heeded, for at that moment two canoes were
seen in the distance coming from the direction of Lake Winnipeg. One
was paddled by an Indian, the other by a squaw and a boy. They made
straight for the spot where our travellers were standing. As they drew
near, Victor hailed them. The boy in the bow of the foremost canoe was
observed to cease paddling. As he drew nearer, his eyes were seen to
blaze, and eager astonishment was depicted on his painted face. When
the canoe touched land he leaped of it, and, with a yell that would have
done credit to the wildest redskin in the prairie, rushed at Victor,
leaped into his arms, and, shouting "Vic! Vic!" besmeared his face with
charcoal, ochre, vermilion, and kisses!
To say that Victor was taken by surprise would be feeble language. Of
course he prepared for self-defence, at the first furious rush, but the
shout of "Vic!" opened his eyes; he not only submitted to be kissed, but
returned the embrace with tenfold interest, and mixed up the charcoal,
ochre, and vermilion with his mouth and pose and Tony's tears of joy.
Oh, it was an amazing sight, the meeting of these brothers. It is hard
to say whether the eyes or the mouth of the onlookers opened widest.
Petawanaquat was the only one who retained his composure. The eyes of
Meekeye were moistened despite her native stoicism, but her husband
stood erect with a grave sad countenance, and his blanket folded, with
his arms in classic fashion, on his breast. As for Rollin, he became,
and remained for some time, a petrifaction of amazement.
When the first burst was over, Victor turned to Petawanaquat, and as he
looked at his stern visage a dark frown settled on his own, and he felt
a clenching of his fists, as he addressed the Indian in his native
tongue.
"What made you take him away?" he demanded indignantly.
"Revenge," answered the red man, with dignified calmness.
"And what induces you now to bring him back?" asked Victor, in some
surprise.
"Forgiveness," answered Petawanaquat.
For a few moments Victor gazed at the calm countenance of the Indian in
silent surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked, with a puzzled look.
"Listen," replied the Indian slowly. "Petawanaquat loves revenge. He
has tasted revenge. It is sweet, but the Indian has discovered a new
fountain. The old white father thirsts for his child. Does not the
white man's Book say, `If your enemy thirst, give him drink?' The red
man brings Tonyquat back in order that he may heap coals of fire on the
old white father's head. The Great Spirit has taught Petawanaquat that
forgiveness is sweeter than revenge."
He stopped abruptly. Victor still looked at him with a puzzled
expression.
"Well," he said, smiling slightly, "I have no doubt that my father will
forgive you, now that you have brought back the child."
A gleam, which seemed to have a touch of scorn in it, shot from the
Indian's eye as he rejoined--
"When Petawanaquat brings back Tonyquat, it is a proof that _he_
forgives the old white father."
This was all that the Indian would condescend to say. The motives which
had decided him to return good for evil were too hazy and complex for
him clearly to understand, much less explain. He took refuge,
therefore, in dignified silence.
Victor was too happy in the recovery of his brother to push the
investigation further, or to cherish feelings of ill-will. He therefore
went up to the Indian, and, with a smile of candour on his face, held
out his hand, which the latter grasped and shook, exclaiming "Wat-chee!"
under the belief that these words formed an essential part of every
white man's salutation.
This matter had barely been settled when a man came out of the woods and
approached them. He was one of the Red River settlers, but personally
unknown to any of them. From him they heard of the condition of the
settlement. Of course they asked many eager questions about their own
kindred after he had mentioned the chief points of the disastrous flood.
"And what of my father, Samuel Ravenshaw?" asked Victor anxiously.
"What! the old man at Willow Creek, whose daughter is married to
Lambert?"
"Married to Lambert!" exclaimed Ian, turning deadly pale.
"Ay, or engaged to be, I'm not sure which," replied the man. "Oh, he's
all right. The Willow Creek house stands too high to be washed away.
The family still lives in it--in the upper rooms."
"And Angus Macdonald, what of him?" asked Ian.
"An' ma mere--my moder, ole Liz Rollin, an' ole Daddy, has you hear of
dem?" demanded Rollin.
At the mention of old Liz the man's face became grave.
"Angus Macdonald and his sister," he said, "are well, and with the
Ravenshaws, I believe, or at the Little Mountain, their house being
considered in danger; but old Liz Rollin," he added, turning to the
anxious half-breed, "has been carried away with her hut, nobody knows
where. They say that her old father and the mother of Winklemann have
gone along with her."
Words cannot describe the state of mind into which this information
threw poor Michel Rollin. He insisted on seizing one of the canoes and
setting off at once. As his companions were equally anxious to reach
their flooded homes an arrangement was soon come to. Petawanaquat put
Tony into the middle of his canoe with Victor, while Ian took the bow
paddle. Michel took the steering paddle of the other canoe, and Meekeye
seated herself in the bow.
Thus they launched out upon the waters of the flood, and, bidding adieu
to the settler who had given them such startling information, were soon
paddling might and main in the direction of the settlement.