After a considerable deal of the silly sort of dreaming that heavy
sleepers persist in conducting on such occasions, when you are trying
your very best to awake them, Rory first, then Allan heard the sound,
became sensible at once, and sprang from their couches of skins.
"Why," cried Rory, "it is McBain's voice as sure as a gun is a gun."
"That it is," said the gentleman referred to, entering the wigwam,
accompanied by Ralph and Oscar, "and if I had known the door was only
latched, it is in I would have been to shake you. Pretty pair of
truants you are."
"Indeed," said Ralph, "we had almost given you up for lost, and a weary
night of suspense we have had."
You may be sure Oscar the Saint Bernard was not slow in expressing his
delight at this reunion. Some large dogs are not demonstrative, but
Oscar was an exception; he was not even content with simply leaping on
Allan's shoulders and half smothering him with caresses. No, this would
not satisfy a dog of his stamp; he must let off the steam somehow, so he
seized Allan's hat, and next moment he was careering round and round
among the forest trees, in a circle with a radius of about fifty yards,
and at the rate of twenty knots an hour. Having thus relieved himself
of his extra excitement, he returned to the hut, gave up the hat, and
lay quietly down to look at his master.
"Yes," said McBain, "but there was no good starting a search expedition
last night, you know, so we left the yacht at daybreak and here we are."
"And here we wouldn't be," added Ralph, "but for that honest dog."
While they were talking, Seth returned with dog and gun, bearing on his
shoulders a young doe, its eyes not yet glazed, so recently had it been
shot.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, throwing down his burden at the door, while
Oscar ran out to say "How d'ye do?" to the mastiff, "I'm skivered. A
kind o' right down skivered."
"Well," said McBain smiling, "I trust it is a pleasant sensation."
"Sensation?" said Seth, "here's where the sensation lies. I go out to
shoot a doe for breakfast, and when I come back, if I don't find three
more on ye. Seven of us and only one doe! But never mind, the old
trapper'll do his level utmost. But I say, though, seven of us to one
doe. Well, I _am_ skivered!"
When men of the world meet in foreign lands, especially in wild foreign
forests, they can dispense with a deal of ceremony, and the old trapper
was soon talking away as free-and-easily, and as merrily, with our
travellers as if he had known them all his life.
But it would have done your heart good to have seen Seth preparing
breakfast. He built a log fire outside the hut and placed an immense
tripod over it; on this he hung an immense pot, all in gipsy-fashion.
This was what Seth called the "dirty work." That finished, this curious
old trapper at once set about transforming himself into _chef_, first
and foremost placing a basin and spoon handy for each of his visitors,
not forgetting the dogs, and the former were surprised to see everything
scrupulously clean. Seth retired for a few minutes with the deer, and
in a surprisingly short time reappeared with a large wooden tray,
containing evidently everything that would be required for the morning's
meal, and old Seth had divested himself of his coat and skin cap, and
now wore an immense leathern apron, with a clean linen cap, while his
sleeves were rolled up above the elbows.
Our heroes lay on the grass talking and laughing and looking lazily on,
but enjoying the sight nevertheless. It was evidently a curry on a
grand scale that Seth was going to give them, and he soon had about a
dozen sliced onions simmering in fat; when they were enough done the
doe's flesh was added, and then Seth set about compounding his curry
out of freshly-grated turmeric and many curious herbs. His pestle and
mortar were rude but efficient. This was the longest part of the
operation, and he had to pause often to take off the lid and stir up the
flesh, and every time he did this the two dogs, who had sworn eternal
friendship when first they met, must needs walk round to the lee side of
the old trapper, and hold their heads high in the air to sniff the
fragrant steam.
And now Seth added the goat's milk, then the curry, and lastly the
flour; after this he left the mess to simmer while he busied himself in
preparations for dishing up. Our heroes were intensely hungry, but they
were also intensely happy, and when hunger and happiness both go
together, it is a sure sign that a man is in health.
"Well, I do declare," said Ralph, passing his dish for the third if not
the fourth time, "I don't think I ever enjoyed a breakfast more in my
life."
"Nor I either; and fancy getting freshly-baked bread," said Allan.
"And the drink," said McBain, lifting a foaming mug to his lips, "what a
glad surprise!"
Simple heather ale it was, reader, made from the heath-tops and
sweetened with wild honey.
"And you tell us," said McBain, "that you've been alone in this forest
for twelve long years?"
"Not alone," said Seth, pointing with his foot to the mastiff. "I had
he, and his father and mother before him."
"And you're your own baker and brewer?"
"Blame me," replied Seth, "if I ain't my own everything, and bar a
couple of journeys a year of a hundred odd miles to sell my furs, and
buy powder and an old newspaper, I never sees a soul save the Yack
Injuns. A little civilisation goes a long way with Seth."
"I dare say," says Rory, "you built your house yourself?"
"Shouldn't wonder if I did," said Seth. "And I cleared all the space
you see around; I knocked the forest about a bit, I can tell you,
gentlemen; the spruce pines that grow to the north and east of the
wigwam are left on purpose for shelter, for in winter it does blow a bit
here--ay, and snow a bit as well, and there is sometimes a week and more
that old Seth can't put his nose over the threshold. And that's just
the time, gentlemen, that I receives visitors, skiver 'em!"
"What, Indians?" asked Rory.
"Oh! no, sirree," said the Yankee trapper; "'tain't likely any Injun
could live in a storm that Seth couldn't stand. No, b'ars, sir, b'ars."
"Ah! bears! yes, I see, and I suppose you give them a warm reception?"
Seth chuckled to himself as he replied, "Whatever I gives 'em,
gentlemen, I serves it up hot. Then their skins come in handy for
blankets and such, you see."
"And the Indians--when do they pay you a visit?"
"After the first fall of snow," said Seth--"soon as they can chivey
along in their caribou sledges."
"It must be grand fun," said Allan, "that chiveying along, as you call
it, in a caribou sledge."
"It is," said Seth, "when once you get used to it, and you have a deer
you can trust. I remember the time when the Yacks knew nothing at all
about training deer for the work. A party of Norwegians, in a tub of a
walrus brig, got stranded round north here some years ago. Well, sir,
the Injuns were going to kill every man Jack of them."
"Savage are they, then?" said McBain. "Not a bit of it!" replied Seth;
"they were going to kill them for fun, that was all!"
"Troth?" says Rory, "they must have a drop of the rale ould Oirish blood
in them, these same Yacks?"
"They ain't Yacks quite, though," says Seth, "though I calls 'em so;
they ain't so indolent as a Yack; they are bigger, too, and a deal more
treacherous."
"Did they kill the poor fellows?" asked McBain. "Not a bit of it!"
Seth replied. "Nary a one o' them. Seth interceded. Though I say it,"
continued the trapper, "as mebbe shouldn't say it, and wouldn't say it
if there was anybody else to say it for me, Seth had some little
influence with these wily blueskins--it ain't red that they be, mind
you, but blue. They'll never forget the first taste of my temper they
had. Plunket's mother were livin' then, and a fine dog she was, and so
was Plunket himself, although not much more'n a year old. The old lady
was left to keep the house one day, and Plunket and I went to look for
caribou. When we returns in the evening I could tell at a glance the
Injuns had been on to us. Everything was upside down; everything was
taken away they could carry, and poor Ino was lying wounded and bleeding
in a corner; the scoundrels had tomahawked her. You should have seen
the way Plunket set his back up and ran round and round the place. But
his turn didn't come then for a bit. We just kept quiet for a few
weeks, and nursed Ino back to life. We knew they'd return, and they
did. Lying awake I was one morning, when I hears Plunket give a low
growl. I knew something was up, so I kept the dogs still and waited to
see what the next move would be. Half-an-hour and more passed, then a
great brown bare arm stole in through the hole in the door-top; in the
hand was a knife, which was moved across the leathern hinges.
Gentlemen, Plunket had a mouthful of that arm ere ever you'd say `axe'!
`Hold on, Plunket!' I cried, and the good dog didn't need two biddings,
I can tell you; he stuck to his prisoner like grim Death to a dead
nigger, until, with a bar and a rope, I had made sure the arm couldn't
be withdrawn. Well, you should have heard the yell that blueskin gave.
But a louder yell than his rang all around the hut next minute, and I
knew then, gentlemen, it was to be war to the knife-hilt. My windows
are small, but the walls are strong, and I was safe enough for a bit. I
fired through each shutter as a kind of warning to 'em; then I crept
upstairs to the little garret and prepared to give them pepper! Fifteen
I could count in all, armed with tomahawks and spears; fifteen, and
Plunket's prisoner. Sixteen in all, and only three of us! No use their
trying to get in in an ordinary way, they soon gave up that game, and
drew off and held a council. I didn't want to begin the game of
killing, gentlemen, or now I could have had three with one bullet. The
conclusion they came to was to burn this old trapper out. But you see,
gentlemen, this old trapper didn't mean to be burnt out if he could help
it. Shame on the wretches! they didn't mind even burning the poor Injun
who was fast to the door. Well, when they began to make the faggots, I
just let them have it as hot as ever I could. It was my six-shooting
rifle, and it didn't seem a moment ere three had bit the dust, and a
fourth, wounded, jumped over the ravine yonder. Well, after this it
'peared to me the fight just began in real earnest. They tried to scale
the hut, and they tried to scale the trees. From both positions they
came down faster than they went up. They threw their hatchets and they
threw their spears, but, worse than all, they fired and threw their
faggots. In that case, thinks I, it's time I brought out my reserves,
so, giving them one other rattling volley, I got down as quick as feet
would take me. `Come, good dogs!' I cried; `now to give them fits!'
Gentlemen, I was about as "mad" [a Yankeeism signifying angry] as ever I
was in my life, and the dogs were madder, and the way I laid around me
with my club when I got out must have been fine to see; but the way that
mastiff went for them blueskins was finer. The field was all our own in
five minutes; the garrison was unscathed, the enemy had six killed, and
it must have taken the others weeks to mend their dog-holes."
"What about Plunket's prisoner?" asked Rory.
"Plunket's prisoner," said Seth, "came in very handy. It was spring,
you see, and there were potatoes to plant and maize and onions to sow,
and what not I tied the creature to Plunket for safety. He had plenty
of rope, and when he saw I didn't mean to kill him he started and worked
away like a New Hollander. When everything was in the ground--and that
took us three weeks--I started him off with a message to Quimo, his
chief, and I can tell you, gentlemen, no Yack Injun has ever drawn knife
on old Seth since."
"But," said Rory, "weren't you going to tell us about the Norwegian
walrus-hunters?"
"Oh!" said Seth, "it was like this. I heard of the shipwreck, and I
went right away over with Plunket to see if I could be of any service.
And it was well for those hunters I did. I found fires alight to
torture them, and irons heating to make them skip and jump. The
blueskin chief was in high glee; he was expecting rare fun, he told me,
`Well, Quimo,' says I to him, `you always was about the peskiest old
idgit ever I came across.' `How now,' says he, `great and mighty
hunter?' `You're an almighty squaw,' says I; `why don't you wear a
"neenak" and carry an "awwee"? Come now, Quimo, let me be master of
ceremonies, I'll show you better fun than you could make.' `My white
brother,' said Quimo, `is very wise.' `And you're an old fool,' says I.
This wasn't flattery, gentlemen, I own, but old Seth knows the Indian
character well."
[Neenak: the short apron of sealskin the women of some tribes of Yack
Indians wear.]
[Awwee: baby or young one, applied to animals as well as human beings.]
"I goes straight to where the Norwegians were lying bound, and cuts
their cords. `Now,' says I to them, `you've got to dance and sing and
do all you can to please these Injuns; and, mind, you're doing it for
dear life!' Gentlemen, I laugh to myself sometimes even yet when I
think of the capers them four poor chaps cut. Old Quimo roared again,
and laughed till the tears rolled down his dirty cheeks; then he vowed
by the sun (the god of the Yack), that the hatchet should be buried for
ever between him and the white man.
"But these Norwegians stopped and settled down among the tribe, and they
have taught them caribou sleighing and hunting the walrus with iron-shod
spears, instead of the old caribou-horn toasting-forks they used to use.
But come, gentlemen, old Seth would keep you talking here all day. Let
us get up and be doing, for I reckon you came ashore for a bit of a
shoot."
"That we did!" said McBain, "and if you'll be our guide, you shall have
as much tobacco as will last you for a year."
The tears seemed to stand in Seth's eyes with delight at the prospect.
"I guess," he said, "this old trapper knows where the best caribou are
to be had, and so does Plunket too."
With Seth, to make up his mind was to act, and in five minutes he had
rehabilitated himself in his skins, slung on his shot-belt, and
shouldered his rifle. Rory was now bemoaning his fate in not having
brought _his_ rifle instead of a fowling-piece, but Seth soon got him
over that difficulty. He strode into the wigwam, and presently
reappeared with a very presentable weapon indeed, and soon after, in
true Indian file, they were threading their way through the forest, the
mastiff first and Oscar second, seeming determined to follow the lead
and do whatever the other dog did. The road--or rather, I should say,
their way, for path there was none--led upwards and inland, and after a
walk of fully an hour they came out into a broad open plain. This they
crossed, and then wound round some hills--high enough to have been
called mountains in England--when suddenly, on rounding a spur of one of
these, a scene was opened out before them that my pen is powerless to
describe. They stood at the mouth of a beautiful glen, or ravine, the
whole bottom of which was a sheet of water that reflected the sky's blue
and the cloudlets that floated like foam flakes above, while the lofty
and rugged cliffs that surrounded the lake were green-fringed with
trees, the silvery birch and the white-flowered mountain ash showing
charmingly out against the more sombre hues of pine and firs; and above
all were the everlasting hills, their jagged peaks white-tipped with
snow, on which the sun shone with silver radiance. Patches of colour
here and there relieved the green of the trees, for yonder was a bold
bluff, covered with scarlet lichens, and closer to the water were
patches of crimson and white foxglove. Cascades, too, formed by the
melting snows, could be descried here and there, and the noise they made
as they joined the lake fell upon the ear like the hum that arises from
a distant city.
They stood entranced, and Rory was thinking he would rather be armed
with sketch-book than rifle, when--
"Hist!" cried Seth.
They followed his eye. On a rock right above them stood boldly out
against the sky a tall stag; you might have counted every branch in his
antlers.
"Don't fire!" cried Seth.
It was too late. Bang went Rory's rifle, and the echoes reverberated
from rock to rock, fainter and more faint, till they were lost in the
distance. Down rolled the stag.
"I guess that has spoiled our day's sport," said Seth, quietly.
"Listen."
What is it they hear? The whole earth seems to tremble, and there is a
sound comes from the woods like that of far-off thunder?
"They're off," said Seth; "that was a general stampede. In half-an-hour
more we'd have had some fine skirmishing. They had been down to drink
and were resting afterwards."
Rory had to pay for his experience anyhow in a three hours' manoeuvring
march. They did outflank the deer at last, but they were somewhat wild,
and the sport was only fair.
It was nightfall ere they reached Seth's wigwam once more, and they were
thoroughly tired, and glad to rest while Seth cooked the supper in a way
that only Seth could.
That night they spent in the wigwam; next day they went on board, and
Seth went with them, their object being to organise a little expedition
against the caribou. McBain meant to make a week's stay here to
replenish his larder fore and aft, ere they tripped anchor and made sail
for wilder regions to the westward and north.
You may be sure Rory did not forget his sketch-book, nor a light canoe
he had which one man could carry on his back.
They had a week of such glorious sport, both in fishing and shooting,
that when the last evening came round both Ralph and Rory averred that
they would like to stay among these wooded hills for ever.
"I guess," said Seth, "you'd get tired of it."
"_Do_ you ever tire of it?" asked McBain, and he asked the question with
a purpose.
"There are times," said Seth, looking into the log fire around which
they sat, and giving a kind of sigh, "when I think that a little change
would do myself and Plunket a power of good."
"You shall have it," cried McBain, jumping up and catching the old man
by the hand, "you and Plunket too. Come with us in the _Snowbird_,
we'll make you as comfortable and happy as the day is long."
"If I thought I'd be of any use--" began Seth.
"Of use, man," cried McBain; "you're the handiest fellow ever I met in
my life."
"And that you'd bring me home again."
"If we don't we'll never return more ourselves," said McBain.
"Then, gentlemen," said the trapper, "I'll accept your offer. There!"