"Taniel Tavidson, if we will not get to the Settlement this night; it
iss my belief that every one o' them will perish."
"Fergus," replied the tall pillar, sternly, "they shall _not_ perish if
I can help it. At all events, if they do, I shall die in the attempt to
save them. Come on."
Daniel Davidson became less like a white pillar as he spoke, and more
like a man, by reason of his shaking a good deal of the snow off his
stalwart person. Fergus McKay followed his comrade's example, and
revealed the fact--for a few minutes--that beneath the snow-mask there
stood a young man with a beaming countenance of fiery red, the flaming
character of which, however, was relieved by an expression of ineffable
good-humour.
The two men resumed their march over the dreary plain in silence.
Indeed, conversation in the circumstances was out of the question. The
brief remarks that had been made when they paused to recover breath were
howled at each other while they stood face to face.
The nature of the storm was such that the gale seemed to rush at the
travellers from all quarters at once--including above and below. Men of
less vigour and resolution would have been choked by it; but men who
don't believe in choking, and have thick necks, powerful frames, vast
experience, and indomitable wills are not easily choked!
"It blows hard--whatever," muttered Fergus to himself, with that
prolonged emphasis on the last syllable of the last word which is
eminently suggestive of the Scottish Highlander.
Davidson may have heard the remark, but he made no reply.
Day declined, but its exit was not marked by much difference in the very
feeble light, and the two men held steadily on. The moon came out. As
far as appearances went she might almost as well have stayed in, for
nobody saw her that night. Her mere existence somewhere in the sky,
however, rendered the indescribable chaos visible. Hours passed by, but
still the two men held on their way persistently.
They wore five-feet-long snow-shoes. Progress over the deep snow
without these would have been impossible. One traveller walked behind
the other to get the benefit of his beaten track, but the benefit was
scarcely appreciable, for the whirling snow filled each footstep up
almost as soon as it was made. Two days and a night had these men
travelled with but an hour or two of rest in the shelter of a copse,
without fire, and almost without food, yet they pushed on with the
energy of fresh and well-fed men.
Nothing but some overpowering necessity could have stimulated them to
such prolonged and severe exertion. Even self-preservation might have
failed to nerve them to it, for both had well-nigh reached the limit of
their exceptional powers, but each was animated by a stronger motive
than self. Fergus had left his old father in an almost dying state on
the snow-clad plains, and Davidson had left his affianced bride.
The buffalo-hunt had failed that year; winter had set in with unwonted
severity and earlier than usual. The hunters, with the women and
children who followed them in carts to help and to reap the benefit of
the hunt, were starving. Their horses died or were frozen to death;
carts were snowed up; and the starving hunters had been scattered in
making the best of their way back to the Settlement of Red River from
which they had started.
When old McKay broke down, and his only daughter Elspie had firmly
asserted her determination to remain and die with him, Fergus McKay and
Daniel Davidson felt themselves to be put upon their mettle--called on
to face a difficulty of the most appalling nature. To remain on the
snow-clad prairie without food or shelter would be death to all, for
there was no living creature there to be shot or trapped. On the other
hand, to travel a hundred miles or so on foot--and without food, seemed
an impossibility. Love, however, ignores the impossible! The two young
men resolved on the attempt. They were pretty well aware of the extent
of their physical powers. They would put them fairly to the test for
once--even though for the last time! They prepared for the old man and
his daughter a shelter in the heart of a clump of willows, near to which
spot they had found a group of the hapless hunters already dead and
frozen.
Here, as far from the frozen group as possible, they made an encampment
by digging down through the snow till the ground was reached. As much
dried wood as could be found was collected, and a fire made. The young
men left their blankets behind, and, of the small quantity of provisions
that remained, they took just sufficient to sustain life. Then, with
cheery words of encouragement, they said good-bye, and set out on their
journey to the Settlement for help.
The object at which they aimed was almost gained at the point when we
introduce them to the reader.
"Taniel!" said Fergus, coming to a sudden halt.
"Well?" exclaimed the other.
"It iss sleepy that I am. Maybe if I wass to lie down--"
He ceased to speak. Davidson looked anxiously into his face, and saw
that he had already begun to give way to irresistible drowsiness.
Without a moment's hesitation he seized the Highlander by the throat,
and shook him as if he had been a mere baby.
"Iss it for fightin' ye are?" said Fergus, whose good-nature was not
proof against such rough and unexpected treatment.
"Yes, my boy, that's just what I am for, and I think you'll get the
worst of it too."
"What iss that you say? Ay, ay! You will hev to bend your back then,
Taniel, for it iss not every wan that can give Fergus McKay the worst of
it!"
Davidson made no reply, but gave his comrade a shake so violent that it
put to flight the last vestige of his good-humour and induced him to
struggle so fiercely that in a few minutes the drowsiness was also, and
effectually, driven away.
"You'll do now," said Davidson, relaxing his grip and panting somewhat.
"Ay, Taniel, I will be doin' now. An' you're a frund in need whatever,"
returned the restored Highlander with a smile of appreciation.
About an hour later the travellers again stopped. This time it was
Davidson who called a halt.
"Fergus," he said, "we have been successful so far, thank God. But we
must part here. Half-an-hour will take me to my father's house, and I
want you to go down to the hut of Francois La Certe; it is nearer than
our house, you know--and get him to help you."
"Surely, Tan, that will be wasted time," objected the Highlander. "Of
all the lazy useless scamps in Rud Ruver, Francois La Certe iss the
laziest an' most useless."
"Useful enough for our purpose, however," returned Davidson. "Send him
up to Fort Garry with a message, while you lie down and rest. If you
don't rest, you will yourself be useless in a short time. La Certe is
not such a bad fellow as people think him, specially when his feelings
are touched."
"That may be as you say, Tan. I will try--_whatever_."
So saying, the two men parted and hurried on their several ways.