For the present, then, our voyageurs had escaped. They were safe upon
the river's bank; but when we consider the circumstances in which they
were placed, we shall perceive that they were far from being pleasant
ones. They were in the midst of a wilderness, without either horse or
boat to carry them out of it. They had lost everything but their arms
and their axe. The hunting-shirts of some of them, as we have seen,
were destroyed, and they would now suffer from the severe cold that even
in summer, as we have said, often reigns in these latitudes. Not a
vessel was left them for cooking with, and not a morsel of meat or
anything was left to be cooked. For their future subsistence they would
have to depend upon their guns, which, with their ammunition, they had
fortunately preserved.
After reaching the shore, their first thoughts were about procuring
something to eat. They had now been a long time without food, and all
four were hungry enough. As if by one impulse, all cast their eyes
around, and looked upward among the branches of the tree's, to see if
any animal could be discovered that might serve them for a meal. Bird
or quadruped, it mattered not, so that it was large enough to give the
four a breakfast. But neither one nor the other was to be seen,
although the woods around had a promising appearance. The trees were
large, and as there was much underwood, consisting of berry-bushes and
plants with edible roots, our voyageurs did not doubt that there would
be found game in abundance. It was agreed, then, that Lucien and
Francois should remain on the spot and kindle a fire, while Basil and
Norman went off in search of something to be cooked upon it.
In less than an hour the latter returned, carrying an animal upon his
shoulders, which both the boys recognised as an old acquaintance,--the
prong-horned antelope (_Antilope furcifer_), so called from the single
fork or prong upon its horns. Norman called it "a goat," and stated
that this was its name among the fur-traders, while the Canadian
voyageurs give it the title of "cabree." Lucien, however, knew the
animal well. He knew it was not of the goat kind, but a true antelope,
and the only animal of that genus found in North America. Its habitat
is the prairie country, and at the present time it is not found farther
east than the prairies extend, nor farther north either, as it is not a
creature that can bear extreme cold. In early times, however--that is,
nearly two centuries ago--it must have ranged nearly to the Atlantic
shores, as Father Hennepin in his Travels speaks of "goats" being killed
in the neighbourhood of Niagara, meaning no other than the prong-horned
antelopes. The true wild goat of America is a very different animal,
and is only found in the remote regions of the Rocky Mountains.
What Norman had shot, then, was an antelope; and the reason why it is
called "cabree" by the voyageurs, and "goat" by the fur-traders, is
partly from its colour resembling that of the common goat, but more from
the fact, that along the upper part of its neck there is a standing
mane, which does in truth give it somewhat the appearance of the
European goat. Another point of resemblance lies in the fact, that the
"prong-horns" emit the same disagreeable odour, which is a well-known
characteristic of the goat species. This proceeds from two small
glandular openings that lie at the angles of the jaws, and appear spots
of a blackish brown colour.
Both Lucien and Francois had shot antelopes. They had decoyed them
within range in their former expedition on the prairies, and had seen
wolves do the same. The Indians usually hunt them in this manner, by
holding up some bright-coloured flag, or other curious object, which
rarely fails to bring them within shot; but Norman informed his cousins
that the Indians of the Hudson's Bay Company care little about the
antelope, and rarely think it worth hunting. Its skin is of little
value to them, and they consider its flesh but indifferent eating. But
the chief reason why they take so little notice of it is, because it is
found in the same range with the buffalo, the moose, and the elk; and,
as all these animals are more valuable to the Indian hunter, he allows
the antelope to go unmolested, unless when he is hard pressed with
hunger, and none of the others are to be had.
While skinning the antelope for breakfast, Norman amused his companions
by relating how he had killed it. He said that he had got near enough
to shoot it by practising a "dodge." After travelling through the woods
for some half-mile or so, he had come out into a country of "openings,"
and saw that there was a large prairie beyond. He saw that the woods
extended no farther than about a mile from the banks of the river, and
that the whole country beyond was without timber, except in scattered
clumps. This is, in fact, true of the Red River country, particularly
of its western part, from which the great prairies stretch westward,
even to the "foot-hills" (_piedmont_) of the Rocky Mountains. Well,
then, after arriving at the openings, Norman espied a small herd of
antelopes, about ten or a dozen in all. He would rather they had been
something else, as elk or deer; for, like the Indians, he did not much
relish the "goat's" meat. He was too hungry, however, to be nice, and
so he set about trying to get within shot of the herd. There was no
cover, and he knew he could not approach near enough without using some
stratagem. He therefore laid himself flat upon his back, and raised his
heels as high as he could into the air. These he kicked about in such a
manner, as soon to attract the attention of the antelopes, that, curious
to make out what it was, commenced running round and round in circles,
of which Norman himself was the centre. The circles gradually became
smaller and smaller, until the hunter saw that his game was within
range; when, slyly rolling himself round on one shoulder, he took aim at
a buck, and fired. The buck fell, and the rest of the herd bounded off
like the wind. Norman feeling hungry himself, and knowing that his
companions were suffering from the same cause, lost no time in looking
for other game; but shouldering the "goat," carried it into camp.
By this time Lucien and Francois had a fire kindled--a roaring fire of
"pine-knots"--and both were standing by it, smoking all over in their
wet leggings. They had got nearly dry when Norman returned, and they
proceeded to assist in butchering the antelope. The skin was whipped
off in a trice; and the venison, cut into steaks and ribs, was soon
spitted and sputtering cheerily in the blaze of the pine-knots.
Everything looked pleasant and promising, and it only wanted the
presence of Basil to make them all feel quite happy again. Basil,
however, did not make his appearance; and as they were all as hungry as
wolves, they could not wait for him, but set upon the antelope-venison,
and made each of them a hearty meal from it.
As yet they had no apprehensions about Basil. They supposed he had not
met with any game, and was still travelling about in search of it.
Should he succeed in killing any, he would bring it in; and should he
not, he would return in proper time without it. It was still early in
the day.
But several hours passed over, and he did not come. It was an unusual
length of time for him to be absent, especially in strange woods of
which he knew nothing; moreover, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and the
rest of his clothing had been dripping wet when he set out. Under these
circumstances would he remain so long, unless something unpleasant had
happened to him?
This question the three began to ask one another. They began to grow
uneasy about their absent companion; and as the hours passed on without
his appearing, their uneasiness increased to serious alarm. They at
length resolved to go in search of him. They took different directions,
so that there would be a better chance of finding him. Norman struck
out into the woods, while Lucien and Francois, followed by the dog
Marengo, kept down the bank--thinking that if Basil had got lost, he
would make for the river to guide him, as night approached. All were to
return to the camp at nightfall whether successful or not.
After several hours spent in traversing the woods and openings, Norman
came back. He had been unable to find any traces of their missing
companion. The others had got back before him. They heard his story
with sorrowing hearts, for neither had they fallen in with the track of
living creature. Basil was lost, beyond a doubt. He would never have
stayed so long, had not some accident happened to him. Perhaps he was
dead--killed by some wild animal--a panther or a bear. Perhaps he had
met with Indians, who had carried him off, or put him to death on the
spot. Such were the painful conjectures of his companions.
It was now night. All three sat mournfully over the fire, their looks
and gestures betokening the deep dejection they felt. Although in need
of repose, none of them attempted to go to sleep. At intervals they
discussed the probability of his return, and then they would remain
silent. Nothing could be done that night. They could only await the
morning light, when they would renew their search, and scour the country
in every direction.
It was near midnight, and they were sitting silently around the fire,
when Marengo started to his feet, and uttered three or four loud barks.
The echoes of these had hardly died among the trees when a shrill
whistle was heard at some distance off in the woods.
"Hurrah!" shouted Francois, leaping to his feet at the instant; "that's
Basil's whistle, I'll be bound. I'd know it a mile off. Hurrah!"
Francois' "hurrah!" rang through the woods, and the next moment came
back a loud "Hilloa!" which all recognised as the voice of Basil.
"Hilloa!" shouted the three by the fire.
"Hilloa, my boys! all right!" replied the voice; and a few seconds
after, the tall upright form of Basil himself was seen advancing, under
the glare of the pine-knots. A shout of congratulation was again
raised; and all the party, preceded by Marengo, rushed out to meet the
new-comer. They soon returned, bringing Basil up to the fire, when it
was seen that he had not returned empty-handed. In one hand he carried
a bag of grouse, or "prairie hens," while from the muzzle of his
shouldered rifle there hung something that was at once recognised as a
brace of buffalo tongues.
"_Voila_!" cried Basil, flinging down the bag, "how are you off for
supper? And here," continued he, pointing to the tongues, "here's a
pair of tit-bits that'll make you lick your lips. Come! let us lose no
time in the cooking, for I'm hungry enough to eat either of them raw."
Basil's request was instantly complied with. The fire was raked up,
spits were speedily procured, a tongue and one of the grouse were
roasted; and although Lucien, Francois, and Norman, had already supped
on the "goat's meat," they set to upon the new viands with fresh
appetites. Basil was hungrier than any, for he had been all the while
fasting. It was not because he was without meat, but because he knew
that his comrades would be uneasy about him, and he would not stop to
cook it. Of meat he had enough, since he had slain the two buffaloes to
which the tongues had belonged; and these same buffaloes, he now
informed them, had been the cause of his long absence.
Of course, all were eager to know how the buffaloes could have delayed
him; and therefore, while they were discussing their savoury supper,
Basil narrated the details of his day's adventure.