The village of Latona was situated on the banks of a beautiful river
which took its course in many winding curves and sharp turns from the
foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains until it emptied its waters into one
of the wider streams and broad water highways of the North-West. The
river was navigable during the greater part of the year, but the
limited population, as well as the long monopoly of the trade by the
Honorable Hudson's Bay Company of Fur Traders, and its rival, the
North-West Company, had delayed enterprise in that direction.
The farms on which the French and English half-breed settlers lived had
been surveyed upon the French system, with a narrow frontage on the
bank of the river, and stretching back in a long strip until the
required area was covered. This plan had the advantage of enabling the
owners of the land to build their houses in closer proximity to each
other. In a new and sparsely settled country, and to a people of the
social disposition of the French, this advantage overbalanced the
obvious disadvantages. The French prefer to share what they possess
with their friends and neighbors in social intercourse and festivity
rather than live comparatively alone until they have accumulated a
sufficient patrimony to be able to entertain without depleting
themselves of all they possess. The result of this social disposition
at Latona was a general poverty and lack of all evidence of prosperity
in the town.
There was but one street, which ran its straggling length between the
scattered houses, and culminated at the one store, owned and managed by
the Hudson's Bay Company. This thoroughfare was not kept particularly
clean; the inhabitants had not yet reached the stage of civilization
which includes municipal officials, or the raising of taxes to defray
the expenses of the paving of streets or making of roads.
Children of almost every age and size, fat, naked and dirty, played and
tumbled about the muddy roadway. No town of the like size in Her
Majesty's dominions could boast of so large a juvenile population as
Latona. They were not, however, all devoted to dirt and the muddy
street; many had careful, tidy mothers, who kept their children as neat
as their circumstances would permit.
Latona had one chapel, in which the genial priest, Père le Sueur,
ministered to his people.
It was Sunday morning, the freighting season was over, and the people
were at home in Latona. Père le Sueur expected a large attendance at
mass, and he was not disappointed. The chapel bell rang clear and
sweet, sounding far across the country and summoning the Indians who
were camped in the vicinity to assemble in the chapel, and so soon as
its pleasant tones had ceased to vibrate upon the morning air,
employees of the Hudson's Bay Company's establishment marched out to
attend the service and join their voices with the half-breeds and
Indians in prayer.
While the people were in the church no sound disturbed the quiet of the
village street save the occasional bark of an angry cur, excited by the
arrival of a horseman, who rode down the street looking to either side
as if in search of someone whom he was disappointed at not finding.
Judging by the absence of the people from their doors that they were
all in the chapel, he dismounted, tied his horse to a post outside, and
entered the sacred edifice.
The congregation was kneeling and following with devout attention the
prayers that were being offered up by the priest, as the stranger
slipped quietly into the first vacant seat and on bended knees added
his voice to their united responses.
The service over, our old friend Donald Mackton was about to loose his
horse and proceed on his journey when he was stayed by Jim Howsford's
outstretched welcoming hand.
"Come away to my shanty," said the hospitable half-breed, "I guess
there's grub and a shake-down fur ye thar."
Donald had intended putting up at the Company's post, but moved by the
recollection of the night he had spent with Jim on the prairie by the
Lone Pine, and the adventure of the morning ride, he decided to accept
the proffered hospitality and stay at Jim's shack.
The house, which its owner was wont to call his shanty or "shack," was
situated some distance from the chapel, and the road to it lay along
the river bank. The walls were of hewn logs, the plan a single room
without any partitions to divide the sleeping from the living
apartments. It was about twenty by thirty feet in size, and contained
a table and stove in the centre and beds ranged as a sort of bunk
around the sides.
Betty greeted Donald with a smile, and busied herself at once in
preparing dinner. The children were too shy to speak, but the smiles
they exchanged with each other, as well as the furtive glances bestowed
on the stranger, betrayed that they had not forgotten him.
Dinner in the house was of a better description than the one served in
the lodge under the Lone Pine. There was abundance of the staple of
both, the delicious buffalo meat, together with venison, potatoes and
cabbage, with bread, milk and tea. The healthy climate and constant
out-door exercise give the people excellent appetites, and provide them
with good digestions; the plainest food is eaten with a relish such as
is not often experienced in cities and towns.
Donald did full justice to Betty's cooking and providing, and could not
help praising her skill in the art of cookery. Betty smiled; she was
too shy to enter into any conversation, but was pleased at being
praised.
When Donald and Jim had finished their dinner, the children and a
number of relatives who had assembled to share Jim's hospitality
gathered around the table, a motley group, as hungry as famished bears.
Needless to say, they soon devoured the remnants of the meal.
Jim and Donald were joined presently by the neighbors, who dropped in
one by one to see and hear what news the stranger had brought. Jim was
a genial host and a great favorite in the village. The half-breeds are
nearly all of English or Scotch parentage, with a small sprinkling of
French, and it is a curious fact that the Irish and German are so
seldom met with, that in a large community or colony of men of the
mixed races, one might count them on the fingers of one hand.
The men were all dressed alike, and presented a picturesque
appearance,--fancy colored shirts, coats and vests trimmed with brass
buttons, gaudy-colored sashes wound about their waists, a pair of dark
pants, moccasins embroidered with beads or porcupine quills, leggings
reaching from the knee downward, also ornamented with beads, and a
fire-bag with fancy figures wrought upon it hung from the belt formed
by the sash. A few wore rings in their ears, and all were armed with a
large knife stuck in a leathern or beaded sheath. They were all
peaceable men, with a vein of humor in their disposition, and prepared
to take life easy. No concern for the morrow troubled them; they were
happy in the enjoyment of the present.
The older men among them gathered in a group about Donald and Jim to
discuss the prospects of the freighting season, the results of the
recent buffalo-hunt, or the latest rumors of the battle that had been
fought between the Crees and the Blackfeet Indians. From such topics
of general interest it was not long before they drifted into others of
a more individual or personal nature, until they all in turn had
related some adventure and narrow escape, some victory they had won, or
incidents of the great dances they had attended when they were young.
Meanwhile the younger members of the company had separated into various
groups, and were sitting upon the floor engaged in other amusements.
The one which had the greatest number of votaries was cards. From the
serious expression of their faces it was not all amusement. Rings,
tobacco, fire-bags and knives were deposited in a heap in their midst
and it was evident that they were gambling. Donald inquired the cause
of such desecration of the day, but the men looked at him in surprise
and said that Sunday was over.
Donald had been trained in the Puritan ways of his ancestors, and in
spite of the rough life of the prairies, still clung to the teaching of
his pious parents. It was not always easy to do so, but he often
managed to enter a mild protest which had the effect of lessening the
evil and increasing the respect in which he was held by the old-timers.
Upon the approach of night the company departed, and Donald, stretching
his saddle-blanket and bear-skin on the floor, made a very comfortable
bed for himself. All the occupants of the house slept on the floor in
the one-roomed house, a temporary partition being provided by a blanket
hung on a rope and stretched across one portion of it. This was in
consideration of the presence of the white stranger.
Donald intended to return across the prairie the following day, and
knowing there were hostile Indians about, many of them being just at
that time in an unsettled state, he desired to secure companions for
the journey.
Jim Howsford, however, wished him to remain to a feast that he had
announced his intention of giving. Donald refused, as he wished to get
away as soon as possible, but when he found that the attractions of the
feast would prevent any success in inducing the Indians or half-breeds
to accompany him he was obliged to remain.
Donald spent the day by the river shooting, and succeeded in bagging a
goodly number of ducks, geese and prairie chickens.
In the evening the half-breed guests arrived early to the feast: they
had put on their holiday attire and were evidently prepared to enjoy
themselves. While the men sat or lounged about and smoked, the women
cooked. When at last supper was ready, and the well cooked and
tempting dishes were set before them, they were hungry enough to eat
with the zest and enjoyment of famished men who had reached a region of
plenty after a season of dearth and starvation.
When their appetites were satisfied, not by any means a speedy
performance, the company cleared the floor, and the fiddles being
called into requisition, the dance began. Seated on low stools against
the wall these musicians lent all their energy to providing both time
and tune to further the fun and encourage the dancers. The old people
looked on while the younger ones danced, and applauded any especial
performance with great appreciation and excitement. When any of the
company manifested unusual skill they recounted similar feats of
agility which they had witnessed in their early days. The dance
continued for several hours, then the guests sat down to a repetition
of the feast of good things. This gave them renewed strength for the
dance, which was again indulged in with the same animation as at the
beginning.
Donald remarked with surprise the familiarity manifested among the men
and women, and the apparent unconcern of the old people at the
excessive gaiety of the younger members of the party. The women sat on
their lovers' knees when they stopped to rest from the dance, and when
his host introduced one of the young girls to Donald, she immediately
implanted a kiss on his cheek. It was evidently the etiquette of the
half-breed code of manners, and in their eyes no more familiar than the
handshake of more reticent races.
The dance showed no sign of abatement as the night reached far into the
morning hours, and Donald lay down to rest. He slept soundly, and when
he awoke some hours later he thought he must be dreaming, for the sound
of music and dancing was still going on. He raised his head and found
it was no dream. While many lay around and about him on the floor
sleeping, others were still dancing with energy and excitement
apparently unabated. The festivities were thus kept up in relays of
votaries for a week without any cessation. While the exhausted ones
slept those who had snatched a few hours' sleep returned to the dance
and the feasting, and not until the last haunch of buffalo had been
eaten did the company disperse to their own homes.
No persuasions could induce any of the men to leave while the
festivities lasted, and it was not until they were ended and some
hours' rest had been taken that Donald secured the services of a Stoney
Indian and a half-breed named Baptiste la Roche for the trip to
Brisbane.
Donald procured a good supply of pemmican, tea, sugar, flour and a few
minor necessaries for their journey, thinking it wiser to take this
precaution than to trust to being supplied by the way with the guns of
the party. He had no desire to run the risk of starvation or of
attracting the notice of hostile Indians.
The party had three pack-horses beside the horses they rode, and these
were likely to delay the speed of their journey to Brisbane to some
extent.
Jim was loud in his expression of thanks to Donald for staying at his
house and taking part in the feast, and many invitations to come again
to the village were given him by both the host and his guests.
The whole village population turned out to see the travellers start and
to wish them good luck, the curé adding his wishes for Donald's
prosperity and safe keeping while crossing the prairie. The cultured
priest had enjoyed some hours of conversation with Donald during his
stay in the village, and parted with him with regret. There had been
mutual esteem and pleasure in their short intercourse, each enjoying
the rare opportunity of discussing topics belonging to the more
literary, scientific and advanced civilized world.
Père le Sueur was not an exception in devotion to the cause of
missionary effort. In that distant field there were many like him who
had received the most cultured training in the Roman Catholic and
Protestant faith the universities of Canada, Great Britain or France
were able to provide. Separated by many miles from men of their own
nation and class, dwelling in camps, associating with half-breeds,
travelling with Indians, teaching school in the lodges, nursing the
sick, praying with the dying and counselling the maturer minds of
hunters and warriors, these men of talent performed their duties
cheered by the consciousness of duty done and the assurance that their
toil would receive recognition in due time. They had no expectation of
earthly reward; time and all the vanities of the world were to them
unreal things, while the spiritual and eternal were esteemed all that
were worth striving for in this life. Imbued with this spirit Père le
Sueur was happy in his work and surroundings. Yet though content to
dwell among the ignorance, idleness and filth of a half-breed and
Indian settlement, he was grateful for every opportunity of hearing and
talking of the latest inventions and discoveries made in a world from
which he had been absent for eighteen years. Donald never forgot the
tale of devotion manifested by the life of the priest of Latona.
His men had set out before him and were some miles on the way before
Donald overtook them. Baptiste la Roche, the half-breed, was a fine,
handsome fellow, a good hunter and noted marksman. He had been loath
to leave Latona so soon after the feast, and it was only by promising a
liberal reward that Donald had been able to induce him to accompany
him. He could speak French, English, Cree and Blackfoot, and seemed to
be perfectly familiar with the idioms of each of these languages. The
Indian was also a fair type of his race, the Stoneys, or, as they
should be called, the Assiniboines,--the name signifying the people who
cook their food on hot stones. The tribe is a branch of the Sioux.
Bearspaw was true to those who employed and trusted him, and could be
relied upon implicitly to serve their best interests. A man of light
build and lithe, quick movements, he was brave and looked upon by his
tribe as invincible. As leader of war parties he had never been
defeated in battle, nor had he ever turned his back on a foe, and his
warriors, animated by his ability and courage as a leader, had followed
him to victory in all their skirmishes on the plains.
The three men were well armed; each carried a Winchester rifle, a large
knife, a revolver and a belt with cartridges. They were thus prepared
for any emergency.
It was late in the afternoon when the party started. They wished to
reach a spot in a wood where there was a good camping ground, about
twenty miles distant, before night. To accomplish this they had to
ride fast, but were not able to make great speed owing to the necessity
of attending to the pack-horses. Intent upon reaching their
destination and the shelter of the wood before the sun went down, the
party rode in silence. It was dusk when they at last drew rein, and
after casting a sharp glance around to see that the ground was clear
and no trace of enemies visible, they dismounted, loosened the packs,
hobbled the horses and made a fire.
Donald lay on his saddle-blanket while Baptiste and Bearspaw bustled
about preparing the supper. There was no delay in arranging the table,
and seated upon the grass the tired men ate heartily of the pemmican,
slap-jacks and strong black tea.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" said a bronzed-faced man who alighted from
his horse as he spoke. He had approached so quietly that the greeting
startled Donald, and he laid his hand on his revolver. The Indian's
face betrayed no knowledge or surprise, although with the keen hearing
of the native he must have known of the stranger's proximity.
"Good evening," replied Donald. "Will you sit down and have some
supper with us? We have enough and will be glad to have your company."
"Thank ye, friends. Don't mind if I do. I'm hungry and I never refuse
a kindness from a stranger."
"Which way are you travelling?" asked Donald, presently, when the
new-comer had shown by the way he devoured the food set before him that
he had fasted some time. "You seem to be tired."
"Well, yes, I was gone a good bit, an' I don't exactly know where I'll
turn up before I'm done. Ye see, I have not had good luck with my
trapping."
"Which way have you been that you have been so unfortunate? Surely the
game is not scarce at this time of the year."
"Wall, no, I guess there's lots o' furs, but the Indians haven't been
very civil this year, an' when I get ahead some o' the rascals steal my
cache, an' then I have to begin all over again. I've been along the
foot o' the mountains an' followed an old Stoney trail for a while, but
ye see I'm gettin' old an' I guess some o' these days I'll have to pass
in my checks, and then it'll be all over with Jim Carrafell."
The old trapper's appearance did not belie his words, and Donald had
not much difficulty in persuading him to join his party.
They sat for some time around the fire, smoking and talking, Donald and
Jim Carrafell exchanging experiences, Baptiste and Bearspaw talking in
the monologues peculiar to the Indian. When the night fell thick about
the camp the men rolled themselves in their blankets, turned their feet
to the fire, and with their saddles for pillows were soon asleep. They
knew that during the early part of the night no Indian would venture to
attack them, yet they slept with hands on their revolvers and guns
within reach, so that if molested they were ready to meet the foe.
The sleepers, however, were not disturbed, and at the first break of
dawn the Stoney was up and looking to see that the horses were safe.
To cook and eat their breakfast, gather the stuff together and set out
occupied little time. Nothing eventful occurred during the day, they
met no Indians, saw but few buffalo. An odd timber wolf cast sinister
glances at them as they rode past, or occasional coyotes slunk away
with drooping tail at their approach, but nothing of more importance
broke the monotony of the day's ride. The evening was but a repetition
of the night before.
When they reached the halting place and camped one evening about sixty
miles from their destination, Donald learned with consternation that
the provisions were exhausted. He had brought what he considered
abundance for the trip, even when allowance was made for the addition
to their number by the arrival of Jim Carrafell, and he was surprised
that the supply should so soon be gone. It was a new experience to
Donald, though not an uncommon one in the lives of many travellers with
such parties. The half-breed had feasted, eating enough for three men,
as if he believed that he should lay in a stock of food that would
sustain him for a week.
The Indian, with the instinct of his race, started ahead of the party
the next morning to levy supplies from the prairies with his gun, and
was successful in shooting enough duck, geese and rabbits to keep them
from starving.
It was dark when they rode into the village of Brisbane, but the
half-breeds and Indians who formed the principal part of the population
were abroad to welcome them.
Donald paid his men and dismissed them, having decided to remain over a
few days in the town.
The half-breed went to the house of one of his relatives, where he was
received with open arms. There he stayed for a week, enjoying his
friend's hospitality, and without giving a thought to his home. Happy
and careless, a true son of the soil, he was heedless of anything or
anyone while he had enough to eat and drink, and was blessed with a
fiddle and a friend.
Bearspaw was of a more dignified nature and appearance. He rode slowly
through the village to the lodge where one of his tribe lived, and
entered quietly, assured of a welcome by the native courtesy and
hospitality that ever are characteristic of the Indian races. He
talked soberly, without any such demonstrative excitement as was
noticeable in the demeanor of the half-breed; made inquiry after the
welfare of the people and of the changes which had taken place among
the families since he left them. When they told him of death in the
camp he said nothing, and as they related the successes his people had
met with in the hunting expeditions, he was silent. Bearspaw was
sympathetic in both their sorrow and joy, but the training of camps had
made him, like all the other members of his tribe and race, the master
of his emotions.
Then they told him that the messenger of death had come to his own
lodge three nights before and stricken down his eldest son, a young lad
and the pride of his father's heart; but Bearspaw still sat motionless,
uttering no word. It would seem as if they had been speaking of
another. Courage died out of their hearts; they had spoken, they now
sat silent.
Presently, with no sign of haste, the bereaved father rose from his
place in the lodge, and without a word departed. His horse was still
fastened to the pole at the entrance of the lodge, but Bearspaw seemed
as if he saw him not. His heart bore too heavy a burden to think of
aught but his sorrow. Looking neither to the right nor left he strode
onward until he reached a dense wood outside the precincts of the
village. He thought not of possible danger; his hand was not laid on
his knife as it would have been at ordinary times. Why should he go
thence? Why leave his friends? Upon what mission is he bent? Wearied
with his long journey does he seek rest?
Alas! no. His heart is very heavy with grief, and he must leave the
haunts of men to seek relief for his wounded spirit. Converse with the
gods alone can bring peace. Hidden from the eye of men he throws
himself upon the ground in an agony of spirit. Hero of a hundred
battles, his lodge decked with scalp-locks, the story of his valor
written in pictures on the walls--valor that had never been exceeded by
any that had been told before--the man who had never been defeated lay
prone upon the ground, vanquished by this blow. He shed no tears,
uttered no cry, but groaned in the bitterness of his grief. Then on
the midnight air the plaintive notes of the wail for the departed fell
soft and sad, the coranach of his race, the father wailing for his dead
son, calling on his name, repeating it again and again in the curious
pathetic monotone peculiar to the Indian.
When the day dawned and the night of grief was passed, Bearspaw
returned in sadness to his lodge, and the women with dishevelled hair,
bare feet and torn and tattered garments, bewailed the dead until the
season of mourning was expired.
Life is sad in every clime; to every camp or home death comes. In the
midst of peace, prosperity and joy sorrow falls, our loved ones are
taken from us, and the world to us seems empty, valueless and of little
worth.
Bearspaw never mentioned his son's name; his grief was silent, but his
hair grew whiter and deeper furrows marked his brow, telling better
than any lamentations how great had been his loss.