On the summit of a green knoll, in one of those beautiful valleys which
open from the prairies--like inviting portals--into the dark recesses of
the Rocky Mountains, there stands, or stood not long ago, a small
blockhouse surrounded by a wooden palisade.
Although useless as a protection from artillery, this building was found
to be a sufficient defence against the bullets and arrows of the red men
of North America, and its owner, Kenneth MacFearsome, a fiery Scotch
Highlander, had, up to the date on which our story opens, esteemed it a
convenient and safe place for trade with the warlike savages who roamed,
fought, and hunted in the regions around it. Some people, referring to
its peaceful purposes, called it MacFearsome's trading post. Others,
having regard to its military aspect, styled it Mac's Fort.
Reuben Dale stood at the front gate of the Fort conversing with a
pretty, dark-haired, bright-faced girl of eighteen years or thereabouts:
Reuben himself being twenty-eight, and as strapping a hunter of the
Rocky Mountains as ever outwitted a redskin or circumvented a grizzly
bear. But Reuben was naturally shy. He had not the courage of a rabbit
when it came to making love.
"Loo," said Reuben, resting his hand on the muzzle of his long rifle and
his chin on his hands, as he gazed earnestly down into the quiet, soft
little face at his elbow.
"Well, Reuben," said Loo, keeping her eyes prudently fixed on the ground
lest they should betray her.
The conversation stopped short at this interesting point, and was not
resumed. Indeed, it was effectually checked by the sudden appearance of
The MacFearsome.
"What, have ye not managed it yet, Reuben?" said the Highlander, as his
daughter tripped quickly away.
"Not yet," said the hunter despondingly.
"Man, you're not worth a gunflint," returned MacFearsome, with a
twinkling glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows; "if ye had not
saved Loo's life twice, and mine three times, I'd scorn to let you wed
her. But you'll have to settle it right off, for the parson won't stop
another day. He counted on spendin' only one day here, on his way to
the conference, and he has been two days already. You know it'll take
him all his time to get to Beaver Creek by the tenth."
"But I'll mount him on my best buffalo-runner and guide him myself by a
short cut," said the hunter, "so that he shall still be in good time for
the circumference, and--"
"The conference, Reuben; don't misuse the English language. But it's of
no use, I tell you. He won't stop another day, so you must have it
settled right off to-day, for it shall never be said that a MacFearsome
was married without the benefit of the clergy."
"Well, I'll do it--slick off;" said the hunter, shouldering his rifle,
and striding away in the direction of a coppice into which he had
observed Loo disappear, with the air of a man who meant to pursue and
kill a dangerous creature.
We will not do Reuben Dale the injustice to lift the curtain at this
critical point in his history. Suffice it to say that he went into that
coppice pale and came out red--so red that his handsome sunburned
countenance seemed on the point of catching fire. There was a pleased
expression on it, however, which was eminently suggestive.
He went straight to a wigwam which stood near the fort, lifted the skin
door, entered, and sat down beside the fire opposite to a hunter not
unlike himself. The man was as tall and strong, though not quite so
good-looking. He was at the time smoking one of those tomahawks which
some Indians have made with pipe bowls in their heads, the handles
serving for stems, so that, when not employed in splitting skulls, they
may be used for damaging stomachs--i.e. for smoking tobacco!
"I've done it, Jacob Strang," said Reuben, with a grave nod, as he
slowly filled his pipe.
These two hunters were knit together with somewhat of the love that
David bore to Jonathan. Jacob gazed at his friend for some time in mute
admiration.
"Honour bright?" he asked at length.
"Honour bright," replied Reuben.
"Well now," said Jacob to the cloud that issued from his lips, "I
couldn't ha' done that to save my scalp. I've tried it, off an' on for
the last six year, and alers stuck at the p'int--or raither just before
it, for I never got quite the length o' the p'int. But I've bin very
near it, Reuben, more than once, uncommon near. One time I got so close
to the edge o' the precipice that another inch would have sent me right
over. `My dear Liz,' says I; but I stuck there, an' the sweet little
thing runned away, larfin', an' so I'm a bachelor still. But I'm right
glad, Reuben, that you've got it over at last. How did it feel?"
"Feel!" echoed the hunter, "it felt as bad, or wuss, nor the time that
grizzly bar up the Yellowstone River got his claws into the small o' my
back--only I hadn't you to help me out o' the difficulty this time. I
had to do it all myself, Jacob, and hard work it was, I tell 'ee, boy.
Hows'ever, it's all over now, an' we're to be spliced this evenin'."
"That's raither sharp work, ain't it, Reuben?" said Jacob, with a
critical wrinkle of his eyebrows, and a remonstrative tone in his voice.
"I ain't much of an authority on sitch matters, but it do seem to me as
if you might have given the poor gal a day or two to make sure whether
her head or heels was uppermost."
"You're right, Jacob; you're judgment was always sound, but, you see, I
was forced to do it slick off because the parson won't wait another day,
an' I'd like to have it done all ship-shape, for I've a respec' for the
parsons, you see. A man who's come straight down from the Pilgrim
Fathers, like me, behoves to act discreetly--so, the weddin's to be this
evenin'."
"Well, you are the best judge, Reuben, an' it's as well that it should
come off when old Fiddlestrings is here, for a weddin' without a fiddle
ain't much of a spree. By good luck, too, there's the lads from Buffalo
Creek at the fort just now, so we'll muster strong. No, I wouldn't give
much for a weddin' without a good dance--not even yours, Reuben."
That afternoon The MacFearsome arranged with the Reverend William Tucker
to delay his departure for one day in order to unite his only daughter
Loo to Reuben Dale.
"You must know, Mr Tucker," he explained, in a slightly apologetic
tone, "although Reuben is only a hunter, his parents were gentlefolks.
They died when Reuben was quite a little fellow, so that he was allowed
to run wild on a frontier settlement, and, as a matter of course, took
to the wilderness as naturally as a young duck takes to the water. But
Reuben is a superior person, Mr Tucker, I assure you, and as fine a
disposition as you could wish. He's as bold as a lion too, and has
saved my girl's life twice, and my own three times--so, you see, he--"
"He deserves a good wife," said the Reverend William Tucker heartily.
"Just so," replied the old trader, wrinkling his fierce yet kindly face
with a bland smile, "and you'll confer a great favour on me if you will
stay and perform the ceremony. Of course, according to Scotch law, we
could marry them without your assistance, but I respect the church, Mr
Tucker, and think it becoming to have a clergyman on occasions of this
kind."
Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome
went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the
clergyman, being fond of equestrian exercise, went out alone for an
afternoon ride.
That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe
encamped in a gloomy defile of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac's
Fort. It was easy to see that they were a war-party, for, besides being
armed to the teeth, their faces were hideously painted, and they had no
women or children with them.
They had stopped for the double purpose of eating a hasty meal and
holding a council of war.
One of the warriors stood up in the midst of his brethren and made a
speech, which, to judge from its effect on the others, must have been
highly inflammatory and warlike. During the delivery of it he turned
his ugly visage frequently, and pointed, with his blue-striped nose, as
it were, in the direction of Fort MacFearsome.
Whatever might have been the tendency of the speech, it was suddenly cut
short by the sound of a horse's hoofs clattering in the glen below.
After bestowing a united eagle glance on the approaching horseman, the
Blackfeet warriors turned a look of intelligence on each other, lay flat
down in the long grass, and melted from the scene as completely and
silently as snow-wreaths melt before the sun in spring.
The Reverend William Tucker was a muscular Christian. That is to say,
he believed that the body, as well as the soul, ought to be cultivated
to the highest possible extent--both having the same origin--and held
that physical health, strength, and vigour, if not absolutely necessary
to the advancement of Christianity in the earth, were at least eminently
conducive thereto. Holding such opinions, and being powerfully built,
he threw himself heart and soul into whatever he did. Hence the clatter
of his horse's hoofs as he galloped swiftly up the glen.
But the Reverend William Tucker was also merciful, and not only drew
rein when the path became too steep, but dismounted and led his steed by
the bridle when he reached the rugged ground near the spot where the
war-party had melted away.
Great and grand were the preparations made for the approaching
festivities at Mac's Fort. Michel, the cook, constructed a venison pie,
the tin dish of which, (repaired expressly for the occasion that
afternoon by the Fort blacksmith), might have served for a bath to an
average baby. The carpenter arranged the hall, or large public room,
cleared away the tables, fitted up a device in evergreens which was
supposed to represent the words _Loo_ and _Reu_, and otherwise garnished
the ball-room with specimens of his originality and taste, while old
Fiddlestrings, who was a self-taught half-breed, fitted to his violin a
new string made by his wife that day from a deer-sinew.
When the hour arrived for the performance of the ceremony, Reuben Dale
appeared among the men of the Fort, dressed, not like a gentleman in
broadcloth, but, in hunter's costume of the most approved cut and
material--a yellow deerskin coat, ornamented with bead and quill work;
blue cloth leggings, a small fur cap, moccasins garnished with silk
flowers, fitting as tight to his feet as gloves fit the hands, and a
crimson worsted sash round his waist. He also wore, slung on his
shoulder by scarlet worsted cords, a powder-horn and shot-pouch--not
that these implements of the chase were necessary to the occasion, but
because he would as soon have thought of appearing at any time without
them as without his nose. For the same reason his rifle accompanied him
to the wedding.
A short time before the appointed hour the bride-elect adorned herself
in simple yet tasteful costume, which, being peculiar to no particular
nation or time, we prefer to leave to the reader's imagination, merely
remarking that as Loo was simple and pretty her garb corresponded to her
appearance and character.
But the appointed hour passed, and the Reverend William Tucker did not
appear. Hunters of the Rocky Mountains, however, are not an impatient
race. Reuben quietly waited as he would have done for a good shot at
game. Not so The MacFearsome. His Celtic blood fired, and he muttered
a few uncomplimentary remarks about the reverend absentee, which it is
well not to repeat.
As time passed, however, the dwellers in Mac's Fort became anxious, then
alarmed, and finally the wedding was postponed, while a search for the
lost one was organised; but they searched in vain, because tracks which
might easily be traced in the wilderness get inextricably mixed up in
the vicinity of a fort.
Next day Kenneth MacFearsome, coming rather hastily and angrily to the
conclusion that Mr Tucker had given them the slip and gone off to his
conference, determined himself to perform the marriage ceremony as
directed in the Church of England Prayer-Book.
"You see, Reuben," he said, "I have a great respect for the Church, and
would fain have had this matter knocked off by one of its parsons, but
as this parson appears to be little better than a wolf in sheep's
clothing--if as good--I'll just do it myself, for I'll not have my
daughter's wedding delayed another day for any man, woman, or beast
alive."
"Wouldn't it be as well, sir," suggested the hunter modestly, "to have a
hunt after the parson by daylight first?"
"No, it wouldn't," said the old trader, with the air and decision of--we
were going to say the great Mogul, but perhaps it would be more emphatic
and appropriate to say--The MacFearsome.
Knowing that appeal from that decision would be in vain, Reuben once
more arrayed himself in the wedding dress, (which he had changed when
the search for Mr Tucker was undertaken), and once again presented
himself before his admiring friends in the decorated hall of Mac's Fort.
The cook warmed up his gigantic pie, old Fiddlestrings re-tuned his
home-made violin, and pretty little Loo at last appeared on the scene
with two half-breed young women as bridesmaids, and two Indian females
as backers-up.
"My friends," said Kenneth MacFearsome, taking up the prayer-book, and
commencing a speech which he had spent the entire forenoon in preparing,
"I have a few words to say to you on this interesting occasion."
The old gentleman's usually stern and handsome countenance had relaxed,
and assumed a bland, sweet expression, which was more consonant with the
circumstances in which they were assembled. Before he could utter
another word, however, he was interrupted, to his great surprise, by
Reuben.
"Excuse me, Mr MacFearsome," said that bold though bashful hunter, "but
my friend and comrade, Jacob Strang, has not yet arrived, and it would
grieve me to the heart if he was absent at such a time as this.
Couldn't we wait a bit? I wouldn't ask you to do so for any other man
alive, but I've hunted wi' him since we were slips of boys, and--and I
can't help thinkin' that somethin's gone wrong wi' him, for Jacob's good
and true, and trusty as steel, an' wasn't used to fail in his
engagements."
While the hunter was speaking the bland expression faded from the
Highlander's countenance, and a fierce look flashed from his blue eyes
as he replied in stern, decided tones:--
"Reuben Dale, if your friend Jacob was the great Israel of Bible story,
or even Moses himself, I would not wait for him. Don't interrupt me
again, lad."
He turned to the assembled company with a wave of his hand, as if to
dismiss the interruption from memory, and attempted to reassume the
benignant expression, with only partial success.
"My friends," he said, but said no more, for at that moment he was a
second time interrupted. A shout was heard outside, the door of the
hall burst open, and Jacob Strang himself strode in, bearing the
Reverend William Tucker on his shoulders.
Depositing his burden on the floor, he said hurriedly, "He's not dead,
only stunned. The reptiles did their best to kill him. They're not far
off, MacFearsome. We'd better go after them."
The MacFearsome usually gave vent to his feelings in Gaelic when
labouring under strong excitement. On this occasion his utterances were
terrible in tone whatever their meaning might be.
"Go after them?" he cried, in a blaze of wrath, "yes, we'll go after
them. Saddle my horse and fetch my gun. Arm yourself, boys! Some of
you will remain to guard the Fort, and see that you keep the gates shut.
Can you guide us to the villains, Jacob?"
"I can at least follow up the trail."
"Stay, _I_ can guide you," said a voice behind them.
It was the Reverend William Tucker himself, who had recovered, and was
sitting up on the floor looking rather confused.
"No, sir; you will remain at the Fort and take care of the women," said
MacFearsome gruffly.
In a few minutes the Chief of the Fort was galloping over the prairie at
the back of his establishment, followed by six of his best men, with
Reuben Dale, and led by Jacob Strang.
In thus giving chase to the red men the Highlander did not act with his
wonted caution. His wrath was too much for him.
Jacob the hunter, while out after deer, had come on the trail of the
war-party of Blackfeet. Suspecting them of mischief, he had followed
them up and found them just at the time when they made prisoner of Mr
Tucker. He saw them bind the unlucky pastor and carry him off, mounted
behind a savage chief. Jacob chanced fortunately to be concealed in a
rugged piece of ground where horses could not act. As the Indians were
riding away he shot the horse that bore the pastor, and at the same time
uttered a series of yells and extempore war-whoops so appalling that the
savages gave him credit for being at least a dozen foes, and fled over a
ridge before turning to see what had happened. The fall of the horse
had stunned the pastor, but the Indian leaped up and drew his knife.
Fortunately Jacob's rifle was a double-barrelled one. Uttering another
ferocious yell he fired, and by good fortune hit the right arm of the
Indian chief, who, dropping his knife, followed his companions like a
hunted stag. Jacob immediately dashed out of his ambush, lifted the
reverend gentleman on his own horse, which he had left in a hollow close
at hand, and brought him, as we have seen, safe back to the Fort.
Now, if the white men had been satisfied with this, all would have been
well, but The MacFearsome had been roused, as we have said, and set off
needlessly in pursuit of the savages. It chanced that the Blackfeet had
arranged to attack the Fort in two bands that night--advancing on it
from opposite directions. The consequence was that while MacFearsome
and his men were away after one band, the other--a much larger band--
ignorant of what had occurred to their comrades, advanced after dusk on
the Fort, and gave the signal for attack. They were surprised at
receiving no reply from their comrades, but did not delay the assault on
that account.
The men who had been left in charge of the Fort were quite worthy of the
trust. Stationing themselves a few yards apart all round the palisades
inside, they kept guard. Mr Tucker, armed with an axe-handle as a
bludgeon--for he objected to taking life if he could avoid it--mounted
guard at the gate. Pretty little Loo kept him company. The other women
were stationed so as to carry ammunition to the men, or convey orders
from the blacksmith who had been left in command.
"This is a sad interruption to your wedding," remarked the pastor, as he
leaned against the Fort gate, and examined his weapon.
"It is," assented Loo meekly, "but you will marry us to-morrow. My
father will return too late to have it done to-night, I fear."
"However late he comes we must get the ceremony over to-night, Loo, for
I positively cannot delay my journey another day. Indeed, even as it
is, I shall be late for the conference of my brethren. Hark! What
sound was that?"
"I heard nothing but the hoot of an owl," said Loo.
As she spoke an arrow, entering between the palisades, whizzed past her.
At the same moment a volley was fired from the other side of the Fort.
"Keep closer to the gate, Loo," said Mr Tucker, grasping his club with
a feeling that the girl's safety depended on the use he made of that
unclerical weapon.
"Come round to the east angle, all of you," shouted the blacksmith.
All the men in the Fort obeyed the summons in time to repel a vigorous
assault made on that point by what seemed to be the whole band of the
enemy, but the bride and one of her maids remained at the front gate to
keep watch there. Just as the victory was gained and the enemy were
driven off at the east angle, a loud scream was given by the women. Mr
Tucker heard it and was first to run to the rescue. He found that three
of the Blackfeet, during the assault on the other side, had crept round
to the front gate. One of these had placed his head against the
stockade, a second had mounted on his shoulders, and a third had thus
gained the top of the pickets.
Seeing at a glance how matters stood, Mr Tucker ran forward and thrust
his bludgeon with a straight point between the posts, right into the
painted face of the lower savage, who fell back at once, carrying the
second savage along with him: but the third had already laid his hands
on the top, and, vaulting over with monkey-like agility, came down on
the pastor's shoulders with such violence that both rolled together on
the ground. But the savage was no match for the athletic pastor, who
compressed his throat with a grip that soon caused him to relax his
hold.
"Here, give me your kerchief, Loo," gasped the pastor; "I'll tie his
hands."
"Why don't you stick him?" asked one of Loo's bridesmaids with great
simplicity.
"Because I won't take life if I can help it," replied Mr Tucker as he
bound the Indian's wrists.
At that moment there arose a wild war-whoop from another part of the
Fort, and a volume of smoke and flame burst from the back of the chief
dwelling-house which stood in the centre of the square. The Blackfeet
had gained an entrance at another point, and set fire to the western
wing of the building unperceived.
With a shout of rage the blacksmith and his men rushed to the scene of
disaster.
"There's father!" said Loo, with a cry of joy.
"Where?" exclaimed Mr Tucker, looking round with a bewildered air.
"Help to open the gate," cried Loo.
The pastor did so at once, and, as he heaved at the bar which held it,
he could hear the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men outside.
The heavy gate swung back just as the cavalcade came up, and they dashed
in at full gallop.
"Open the back gate wide, Loo, and leave this one open, too," shouted
MacFearsome, as he flew past like an enraged thunderbolt.
Our bride possessed that most valuable quality, a tendency to prompt,
unquestioning obedience. Running lightly to the other side of the Fort
she undid the fastenings and forced the back gate wide open. Meanwhile
her father and our bridegroom, with his friend Jacob and the six men,
charged down on the savages with wild yells of fury. The sight of them
was sufficient! The Blackfeet turned and fled through the open gates in
consternation. As they coursed towards the woods like hares the
blacksmith managed to turn on them a small ship's-cannon loaded with
buckshot, which awoke the echoes of the wilderness with a deafening
roar. The horsemen also pursued and scattered them right and left.
Then the gates were reclosed, while the bright flame of the burning
buildings lit up the scene as at noon-day.
"Hold your hands now, boys," shouted MacFearsome, drawing rein.
Those nearest to the chief obeyed, and the others, soon perceiving what
was being done, rejoined their comrades.
"Where is Reuben?" asked MacFearsome, as they were turning towards the
Fort.
Each looked at the other, but none could answer.
"I saw him down in the hollow, charging the Indians," said one.
"And I saw him coming back by the stable-fence," said another.
"Off with you to both places and look for him," cried the chief, "and
the rest of you follow me."
They searched swiftly to and fro for some minutes, and soon found his
riderless horse. Then a cry from one of their number was heard from the
hollow. Galloping thither they found Reuben lying on his back,
apparently dead, with an arrow in his chest.
In a moment Jacob was on his knees at his friend's side, and soon the
arrow was extracted, but it was found that blood gushed freely from the
wound. Stanching this as best they could they bore the wounded man
carefully to the Fort.
"Oh, father! I hope the fight is over now," exclaimed Loo, as her sire
rode through the gateway.
"Yes, the fight is over," replied the Highlander, sternly, "but it has
cost us much. Our house is on fire and Reuben is--"
He did not finish the sentence. Indeed, there was no occasion to do so,
for, while he spoke, the men advanced who bore Reuben's all but lifeless
body.
Loo did not scream or utter a word, but her white face and compressed
lips told their own tale as she walked by her bridegroom's side into the
hall which had been so gaily fitted up, but was now a blackened and
partially burned room.
While the hunter's wound was being examined every one, save the pastor
and the women, was sent from the hall to aid in extinguishing the fire,
which had been nearly subdued. MacFearsome was somewhat expert as an
amateur doctor, and so was the Reverend William Tucker. Their united
opinion was that the hunter's case was a very grave one. They did all
that could be done to stop the bleeding and sustain the strength of the
wounded man, whose consciousness returned after a short time.
"Is it all over with me, father?" asked Reuben, in a faint voice,
addressing The MacFearsome for the first time by that endearing title.
"I fear it is, my son," replied the Chief. "You know it is not my habit
to mince matters at any time, and I don't think you are such a baby as
to fear death when it is sent to you. However, I will not say that your
case is hopeless till I have tried my medicine on you--so keep up your
heart, Reuben."
"Father," said Reuben, "will you allow me to be alone with Loo, for a
little?"
"Certainly, my dear boy, but you must have your medicine first."
Reuben replied with a smile and a nod.
After taking the physic he was left alone with Loo. For some time
neither could speak. At last Loo said, "Oh, Reuben dear! you are not
going to die?"
"I hope not, dearest, but when the Lord's time comes we must be ready to
answer to our names. If I am to go now I would spend the few hours that
remain to me listening to your sweet voice reading the Master's Word."
"Reuben," said Loo, with sudden animation, "will you grant me a favour?"
"You know I will, whatever it be," replied the hunter, with a languid
smile; "what is it?"
"That we may be married to-night--within this hour," said Loo, with
decision.
"Why? Of what use to wed a dying man?"
"Because I want to nurse you as your wife, to the end, if it be His will
that you shall go, and I wish to be for ever after called by your dear
name."
"It is a strange notion--a sweet one to me, dearest Loo. It shall be as
you wish. Call father."
At first the Highlander strongly objected to the wish of his child, but
Loo knew how to overcome her father's objections! In the course of
half-an-hour Reuben sent for Mr Tucker. The MacFearsome's medicine,
whatever it was, was potent as well as patent. Reuben was able to talk
with considerable energy when the pastor appeared--summoned, as he
fancied, to prepare the dying man for the great change. Great,
therefore, was his amazement when Reuben begged of him to make
arrangements for performing the interrupted marriage ceremony within
half-an-hour.
"But you seem to be dying, friend?" said the perplexed pastor.
"That may be so," replied the hunter quietly, "but Loo wants to be wed
before I die, and we'd better waste no time about it."
There was no resisting this, so the Reverend William Tucker made
arrangements for the wedding, while The MacFearsome and his men were
busied extinguishing the last sparks of the fire.
It was near midnight before these arrangements were completed. Then the
men were summoned once more to the Hall, but how different were their
feelings now from what they had been earlier on that day! The
occupation of old Fiddlestrings was gone. Even the huge pie was
dismissed from the scene. The wedding guests crept quietly in, their
gay costumes torn and covered with charcoal, and bearing other evidences
of the recent conflict. They were very silent, too, and sad, for they
were aware of the critical condition of the bridegroom.
When all was at last prepared a new and unexpected difficulty arose. It
was found that Reuben had fallen into a sound sleep!
Thereupon a whispered but anxious conversation took place at the end of
the hall farthest from the wounded man's couch.
"We must waken him," said MacFearsome, with stern look and tone.
"No, father," said Loo, with a tearful smile, "we must wait."
"Your daughter is right," whispered Mr Tucker. "Whatever be the
condition of Reuben, sleep is the best thing for him."
"But you must start for your conference at four in the morning, and he
may not awake before that," objected MacFearsome.
Their perplexities were suddenly removed by Reuben himself, who awoke
while they were consulting, and asked his friend Jacob--who watched at
his side with the tenderness of a brother--where Loo had gone to.
"She's here, Reuben, waitin' to get married," replied his friend.
The hunter roused himself, looked hastily round, raised himself one one
elbow, and said in a strong voice, "Come, I'm ready now. Let's get it
over."
Immediately Loo was at his side; the whole party assembled round his
couch; the pastor opened his book, and in these exceptional
circumstances Reuben Dale and Louisa MacFearsome were married!
"Now, Reuben dear," whispered Loo, as she pressed his lips, "lie down
again and go to sleep."
"On one condition only," said the wounded man, with something like a
twinkle in his eye, "that you go on with the wedding feast. Jacob says
a wedding is worth nothing without a dance. Now, as this wedding is
worth all the world to me, Loo, I'm determined that it shall be worth
something to my old friend and comrade."
It was found that remonstrances were in vain, so, as resistance to his
wishes might have proved hurtful to the invalid, the wedding feast was
continued and carried through with far more vigour than might have been
expected, Reuben himself being, apparently, one of the most interested
spectators.
So Jacob had his dance, and he performed his part with unwonted
energy,--for the sake of pleasing his friend rather than himself.
When the lights were waxing low, and the great pie had been eaten, and
old Fiddlestrings had been used up, Reuben called his friend to his
side.
"What with searchin'," he said, "an' fightin', and fire-stoppin' an'
dancin' you've had a pretty stiff time of it, Jacob. But you're a
strong man--leastwise you used to be--an' I daresay there's plenty of go
in you yet."
"I'm fresh as a lark, Reuben," replied his friend. "What want ye wi'
me?"
"I just want ye go fetch your horse, an' saddle my best buffalo-runner
for the parson, an' take him to Beaver Creek. Do it as fast as you can,
Jacob, and by the short cut, and don't spare the cattle."
"I'll do it, Reuben."
Jacob was a man of few words. He did it, and thus it came to pass that
when grey dawn began to break over Mac's Fort, it found the Reverend
William Tucker and his guide scouring over the western plains at the
rate of thirty or forty miles an hour--more or less--while Reuben Dale
lay sound asleep in his blood-stained wedding dress, his strong hand
clasping that of pretty little Loo, who was also sound asleep, in an
easy chair by his side.
About the same time The MacFearsome flung himself down on his
half-burned bed, where in dreams--to judge from his snorting, snoring,
and stertorous breathing--he waged war with the whole Blackfeet race
single-handed!
When the pastor bade farewell to Reuben he had done so with the sad
feelings of one who expected never to see his face again, but the
pastor's judgment was at fault. Reuben Dale lived--he lived to become
as strong and able a hunter of the Rocky Mountains as ever he had been;
he lived to take Loo to the western settlements, and squat down beside
The MacFearsome's new farm, as a species of hunting farmer; he lived to
become a respected member of the Reverend William Tucker's church in the
wilderness, where he filled two pews with little Dales, which, as an
Irish comrade remarked, was a dale more than he deserved; and last, but
not least, he lived to urge, argue, badger, bamboozle, worry, and haul
Jacob Strang up to that "p'int" at which he had so often stuck before,
but over which he finally fell, and managed to secure that "dear Liz"
who was destined to become the sunshine of his after-life.
In regard to this matter, Jacob was wont to say to his friend at times,
when he was particularly confidential, that "the catchin' of Liz was the
best bit of trappin' he had done since he took to huntin' in the Rocky
Mountains, and that if it hadn't bin for his chum Reuben Dale, he never
would have bin able to come up to the p'int, much less git over it,
though he had lived to the age of Methuselah and hunted for a wife all
the time."
"A good story," said Dick Thorogood, as Fred folded up the manuscript;
"but to return to matter of greater importance than this hunter's
wedding, curious though it be: what about emigrating?"
"I'll go, for one!" exclaimed the blacksmith bringing his huge fist down
with a heavy thud on the table.
"John, John, it's not the anvil you've got before you," said old Moll.
"No, nor yet is my fist the fore-hammer," rejoined the smith, with
sparkling eyes. "Nevertheless, I repeat that I'll go--always supposing
that you and Molly have no objections."
It was one of the dearest wishes of the old woman's heart to be near her
crippled and favourite son, but she would not commit herself at once.
"What says Molly?" she asked, turning to her daughter.
Molly cast a sidelong glance at Fred, who gave the slightest possible
nod, and then said, in her gentle voice, "The sooner we begin to pack
the better!"
"Bravo, lass!" cried the young sailor, slapping his thigh; "well said,
and we'll all go together. What say you, boys?"
"Agreed--agreed!" was the hearty reply.
And this was no idle talk. That night at worship, the father of the
family spread Jim's letter, as he said, before the Lord, and asked for
guidance. The end of the whole matter was that, a few months later, the
Thorogood family emigrated to the backwoods of America, and began that
career of useful, energetic, patient, God-directed labour which ended in
the formation of a happy garden in a part of the wilderness which had
formerly been the haunt of wild beasts and wilder men.
And here, kind reader, we must close our little tale, for it would take
a large book, if not two books, to tell the story of that thorough-going
family's adventures while endeavouring to spread the truth in the Far
West. Suffice it to say, that they all found what they went in search
of--health and happiness--because they sought for these blessings in
accordance with the teachings of the blessed Word of God.