"He'll live," cried Seth; "he'll live! This is the proudest day for the
old trapper in the whole course of his born existence."
And the cry of Rory for water was indeed the first sign of returning
life. A few drops of the juice of that wonderful plant were squeezed
into the wounded boy's mouth, and, ten minutes after, the colour had
returned to his face, and he was sleeping as sweetly and soundly as ever
he had slept in his life.
McBain squeezed the hand of the honest trapper. In silence he pressed
the trapper's hand. Perhaps he could not have spoken at that moment had
he wished to do so, for there was a moisture in his eyes that he had no
need to be ashamed of.
While Rory sleeps calmly by the rude log fire, there is other and sadly
mournful work to be attended to, for three of the _Snowbird's_ brave
crew lie stark and stiff. So the dead had to be laid out, and the
graves dug, where, as soon as sunrise, they would lie side by side with
those who had so lately been their foes.
Two more men were wounded, but none so severely as Rory.
There was little sleep for any one in the camp that night, for they were
constantly in dread of a renewed attack by the savages. Even the luxury
of a fire was a danger, and yet upon this depended Rory's very
existence; but patrols were kept constantly moving through the forest
near to prevent surprises.
"Yet I don't think," said Seth, "that them bothering blueskins will come
around again. We've given them such a taste of our steel and our
shooting-irons that it ain't likely they'll have an appetite for more
for some days to come."
"Shall you hunt them up in the morning," asked Allan, "and have
revenge?"
"No," said McBain; "no, Allan. The principle is a bad one. People
should fight in defence of their homesteads, fight for life and honour,
but never to simply show their superiority or for mere revenge."
Very simple was the service conducted by McBain by the graves of the
fallen men. Very simple, and yet, methinks, none the less impressive.
A psalm from the metrical version of Israel's sweetest singer, and a
prayer--that was all; then the graves were covered in and left, and
there they lie by the side of that Great Snow Lake, with never a stone
to mark the spot. Oh! but those three poor fellows will live for many a
day and many a year in the memory of their messmates.
The march back to the _Snowbird_ was a mournful one. The skins they had
collected did not seem to have the same value now. McBain would not
leave them behind, however. Duty must not be neglected, even in the
midst of grief.
And Rory? Would he live? Would the blood ever bound again through his
veins as of yore? Would he ever again be the bright-smiling,
sunny-faced lad he had been? For weeks this was doubted. He lay on his
bed, so pallid and worn that every one save Seth thought he was wearing
away to the land o' the leal. Seth would not give him up, though, and
many a herb and balsam he gathered for him in the forest, and many a
strange fish, cooked by Seth himself, was brought to tempt his appetite.
Seth came on board one day rejoicing.
"I have it now," he cried; "the old trapper has done it at last. Now,
boy Rory, as everybody calls you, you have nothing earthly to do in this
wide world but get well. And you'll eat what I brings, and nice you'll
find them, too." And Seth proceeded to open a handkerchief and display
to the astonished gaze of our heroes a lovely collection of large
truffles.
"Why, truffles, I do declare!" exclaimed McBain. "I never imagined,
friend Seth, that the geographical disposition of the truffle extended
to these wild regions."
"The trapper don't speak a word o' Greek," said Seth, looking at McBain
amusedly; "but them's the truffles, right enough, and they are bound to
send the last remnant o' that vile blueskin's pisen out o' boy Rory's
blood."
It was a magical stew that Seth concocted that day with those truffles.
It even made Rory smile. Something of the old good-humour and happiness
began to settle down on the hearts of the people of the _Snowbird_ from
that very hour, and when, a day or two after, Rory joined his mess mates
at dinner, reclining on a sofa, all doubts for his safety were
completely dispelled. Dr Seth, as he insisted upon calling the
trapper, was invited to join the party, and not only he, but the three
mates, and a pleasant evening, if not a merry one, was passed.