Once again we return to Silver Lake; but here we do not find affairs as
we left them. True, Roy and Nelly are still there, the hut is as snug
as it used to be, and the scenery as beautiful, but provisions have
begun to fail, and an expression of real anxiety clouds the usually
cheerful countenance of Roy, while reflected anxiety sits on the sweet
little face of Nell. The winter is far advanced, and the prospect of
resuming the journey home is farther off than ever.
One morning Roy entered the hut with a slow step and a sad countenance.
"Nell," said he, throwing down a small fish which he had just caught,
"things look very bad now; seems to me that we'll starve here. Since we
broke the long line I've only caught little things like _that_; there's
no rabbits in the snares--I looked at every one this mornin'--and, as
for deer, they seem to have said good-bye for the winter. I thought of
goin' out with the gun this forenoon, but I think it a'nt o' no use, for
I was out all yesterday without seeing a feather or a hoof-print."
The tone in which Roy said this, and the manner in which he flung
himself down on the ground beside the fire, alarmed his sister greatly,
so that she scarcely knew what to say.
"Don't know what's to be done at all," continued Roy somewhat peevishly.
This was so unlike himself that the little girl felt a strong tendency
to burst into tears, but she restrained herself. After a short silence,
she said somewhat timidly--
"Don't you think we might try to pray?"
"What's the use," said Roy quickly; "I'm sure I've prayed often and
often, and so have you, but nothin's come of it."
It was quite evident that Roy was in a state of rebellion. This was the
first time Nelly had suggested _united_ prayer to her brother; she did
it timidly, and the rebuff caused her to shrink within herself.
Roy's quick eye observed the shrinking; he repented instantly, and,
drawing Nelly to him, laid her head on his breast.
"Forgive me, Nell, I shouldn't have said it; for, after all, we've had
everything given to us here that we have needed up to this time. Come,
I _will_ pray with you."
They both got upon their knees at once, but, strive as he might, not a
word would cross Roy's lips for several minutes. Nelly raised her head
and looked at him.
"God help us!" he ejaculated.
"For Jesus' sake," murmured Nelly.
They both said "Amen" to these words, and these were all their prayers.
Roy's rebellion of heart was gone now, but his feelings were not yet
calmed. He leaped up, and, raising his sister, kissed her almost
violently.
"Now, lass, we _have_ prayed, and I _do_ believe that God will answer
us; so I'll take my gun and snow-shoes, an' off to the woods to look for
a deer. See that you have a roarin' fire ready to roast him three hours
hence."
Nelly smiled through her tears and said she would, while Roy slipped his
feet through the lines of his snow-shoes, threw his powder-horn and
bullet-pouch over his shoulder, seized his gun, and sallied forth with a
light step.
When he was gone, Nelly began actively to prepare for the fulfilment of
her promise. She took up the axe which Roy had left behind him, and
went into the forest behind the hut to cut firewood. She was very
expert at this laborious work. Her blows were indeed light, for her
little arms, although strong for their size, were not strong for such
labour; but she knew exactly where to hit and how to hit. Every stroke
fell on the right spot, with the axe at the right angle, so that a chip
or two flew off every time. She panted a good deal, and grew uncommonly
warm, but she liked the work; her face glowed and her eyes sparkled, and
it was evident that she was not exhausted by it. In little more than an
hour she had cut enough of dry wood to make a fire that would have
roasted an entire sheep. Then she carried it to the hut, after which
she sat down to rest a little.
While resting, she gathered carefully together all the scraps of food in
the hut, and found that there was still enough for two good meals; so
she ate a small piece of dried fish, and began to wish that Roy would
return. Suddenly she was startled by a loud fluttering noise close to
the hut, and went out to see what it could be.
It might be supposed that a little girl in such solitary and unprotected
circumstances would have felt alarmed, and thought of wolves or bears;
but Nelly was too well accustomed to the dangers and risks of the
backwoods to be much troubled with mere fancies. She was well aware
that wolves and bears, as a rule, shun the presence of human beings, and
the noise which she had heard was not of a very alarming character.
The first sight that greeted her was a large bird of the grouse species,
sitting on a tree not three yards from the hut. She almost felt that by
springing forward she could seize it with her hands, and her first
impulse was to throw the axe at it; but, checking herself, she went
noiselessly back into the hut, and quickly reissued with the bow and a
couple of arrows.
Fitting an arrow to the string, she whispered to herself, "Oh, how I
_do_ hope I won't miss it!" and took a careful aim. Anxiety, however,
made her hand unsteady, for, the next moment, the arrow was quivering in
the stem of the tree at least three inches below the bird.
A look of deep disappointment was mingled with an expression of
determination as she pursed her little mouth and fitted the second arrow
to the string. This time she did not take so careful an aim, but let
fly at once, and her shaft entered the bird's throat and brought it to
the ground. With a cry of delight she sprang upon her prize, and bore
it in triumph into the hut, where she speedily plucked it. Then she
split it open, and went down to the lake and washed it quite clean and
spread it out flat. Her next proceeding was to cut a short stick, about
two feet in length, which she pointed at both ends, making one point
thinner than the other. This thin point she thrust through the bird,
and stuck it up before the fire to roast, placing a small dish, made of
birch bark, below it to catch the dripping.
"I hope he won't come back till it's ready," she muttered, as the skin
of the bird began to brown and frizzle, while a delicious odour began to
fill the hut.
Just as the thought was uttered, a footstep was heard outside, the
covering of the doorway was raised, a tall figure stooped to enter, and
the next instant a gaunt and half-naked savage stood before her.
Nelly uttered a faint cry of terror, but she was so paralysed that she
could make no effort to escape, even had escape been possible.
The appearance of the Indian was indeed calculated to strike terror to a
stouter heart than that of poor Nelly; for besides being partially clad
in torn garments, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his whole
person was more or less smeared with blood.
As the poor child gazed at this apparition in horror, the Indian said,
"Ho!" by way of salutation, and stepping forward, took her hand gently
and shook it after the manner of the white man. A gleam of intelligence
and surprise at once removed the look of fear from Nelly's face.
"Wapaw!" she exclaimed breathlessly.
"Ho!" replied the Indian, with a nod and a smile, as he laid aside his
gun and snowshoes, and squatted himself down before the fire.
There was not much to be gathered from "ho!" but the nod and smile
proved to Nelly that the intruder was indeed none other than her old
friend Wapaw.
Her alarm being now removed, she perceived that the poor Indian was
suffering both from fatigue and wounds--perhaps from hunger too; but
this latter idea was discarded when she observed that several birds,
similar to the one she had just killed, hung at the Indian's belt. She
rose up quickly, therefore, and, running down to the lake, soon returned
with a can of clear water, with which she purposed bathing Wapaw's
wounds. Wapaw seized the can, however, and emptied the contents down
his throat, so she was constrained to go for a second supply.
Having washed the wounds, which were chiefly on the head and appeared to
her to be very severe, although, in reality, they were not so, she set
the roasted bird before him and desired him to eat.
Of course she had put a great many questions to Wapaw while thus
occupied. Her residence with the Indians had enabled her to speak and
understand the Indian tongue a little, and, although she had some
difficulty in understanding much of what Wapaw said in reply, she
comprehended enough to let her know that a number of white men had been
killed by the savages, and that Wapaw was fleeing for his life.
On first hearing this a deadly paleness overspread her face, for she
imagined that the white people killed must be her own kindred; but Wapaw
quickly relieved her mind on this point.
After this he devoted himself entirely to the roasted bird, and Nelly
related to him, as well as she could, the particulars of her own and
Roy's escape from the Indians.