Happening to hear of the bargain which we have just described, and being
under the impression that it might be good for La Certe's spirit to
receive a mild reproof, Mr Sutherland paid him a visit.
The Scotch Elder was, for a long time, the only man fitted to perform
the duties of a minister to his countrymen in that out-of-the-world
colony, and, being a true man of God, he could not hear of gross
injustice, or heartless conduct, without some slight attempt to open the
other's eyes to his sin.
It may well be understood that, in the nature of things and the state of
the country, the solitary Elder's duties were by no means light or
agreeable. Indeed he would have had no heart to cope with them and with
the difficulties they entailed, had he not remembered that the battle
was not his, but the Lord's, and that he was only an instrument in the
all-powerful hand of the Spirit of God. His own weapons were the Word,
Prayer, and the name of Jesus.
But it was not given to him to see much fruit of his visit to La Certe
at that time. The half-breed, besides asserting himself to be a
"Catholic," (by which he meant a Roman Catholic), and, therefore, in no
way amenable to Sutherland's jurisdiction, received his remonstrances
with philosophical arguments tending to prove that men were meant to
make the best of circumstances as they found them, without any regard to
principles--which, after all, were not very seriously held or practised
by any one, he thought--especially in Red River.
As for Slowfoot, she listened with evident interest and curiosity to the
strange teaching and exhortations of the Elder, but when appealed to for
some sort of opinion on the various points touched, she replied with an
imbecile "Hee! hee!" which was not encouraging.
However, the good man had sown the seed faithfully and kindly. The
watering thereof and the sprouting were, he knew, in the hands of the
Master.
Rising to take leave, the Elder put his hand in his pocket and pulled
out a large clasp-knife.
"Why, that's my knife that I lost!" exclaimed La Certe in surprise;
"where did you find it?"
"I found it on my table at home, where you left it that time you came to
ask for some tobacco. Now, observe, if I did not seriously hold and
practise the principle of honesty, I would have made the best of
circumstances as I found them, and would have put the knife in my pocket
instead of returning it to you."
La Certe laughed, and Slowfoot said, "Hee! hee!" while the juvenile La
Certe availed itself of the opportunity to draw the pipe gently from its
father's hand and have a whiff.
"I have a message to you from the Governor," continued the Elder, taking
a piece of paper out of his pocket.
"For me!" exclaimed La Certe, in surprise.
"Yes. He heard that you are hard up just now, and that you are going up
the river a considerable distance to hunt--is not that so?"
"Yes, that is true. We start off to-morrow."
"Well, then, he gave me this order for some supplies of powder and shot,
twine and hooks, with some cloth, beads, and such like for Slowfoot."
"That is very good of the Governor--very considerate," said La Certe
with a pleased look.
"Very good," said Sutherland. "Now, La Certe, suppose it true that men
are meant to make the best of circumstances as they find them, and that
I was a man without any regard to principle, I might have drawn these
supplies from the store for you, and used them myself, and you would not
have been a bit the wiser."
Again the half-breed laughed, and admitted the truth of the proposition,
while Slowfoot expressed her belief, (whatever it was), in a more than
usually emphatic "Hee! hee!"
Returning home from his apparently useless errand, Sutherland met Fred
Jenkins with a gun on his shoulder. The seaman was accompanied by
Archie Sinclair.
"Well, Jenkins," he said, heartily, "you must be like a fish out o'
water in these regions. Don't you feel a longing, sometimes, for the
roar of the gale and the smell o' the salt sea?"
"Can't say as I does, Mr Sutherland. I've bin used to accommodate
myself to circumstances, dee see, ever since I was a small shaver; so
nothin' comes exactly amiss to me--"
"O Fred! how can you tell thumpers like that?" interrupted the forward
Archie. "Isn't Elise Morel a miss to you? and Elspie, and Jessie
Davidson?"
"Clap a stopper on your mug, you young scape grace!" retorted the
seaman, who had some doubt as to whether the boy's putting Elise Morel's
name first was intentional or an accident. "As I was a-going to say,
sir, I was always fond o' changes, an' the rollin' plains come to me as
pleasant, though not quite so familiar, as the rollin' sea."
"That's a satisfactory state o' mind, anyhow," returned the Elder. "But
where away now?--to cater for the pot, I dare say."
"Well, no, not exactly--though I've no objection to do that too in the
by-goin'. But we've heard a report that a band o' Sioux are goin' to
visit the Settlement, and as there's a lot o' their enemies, the
Saulteaux, knocking about, I've bin sent to the fort by old McKay to see
if they've heard about the Sioux comin', an' if there's likely to be a
scrimmage, so as we may clear for action, d'ee see?"
"I see; and I hope there will be no need to clear for action. I'm glad
to see Archie with you too," said Sutherland, "but surprised; for I
don't remember when I saw him without Little Bill on his back or at his
side."
"O, as to that, Little Bill has forsaken me," said Archie, "or I have
forsaken him--I'm not sure which--since Dan Davidson's accident, for he
does little else but sit at Dan's bedside, readin' to him or talking
with him."
"The dear little fellow could not be better employed," remarked the
Elder.
"The dear little fellow could be _much_ better employed," retorted the
boy, with unexpected decision. "He could be rambling about the plains
or in the bush with me, getting strength to his muscles and fresh air to
his lungs, an' health to his body--to say nothing of his soul."
"Why, you are becoming jealous, lad," said Sutherland, with a laugh.
"No, I'm not _becoming_ jealous; I'm jealous already," returned the boy,
with an air that was half jocular, half serious. "However, I'll
exercise patience a little longer, but I'm determined not to let Little
Bill be sacrificed for the sake of sick-nursing."
With this announcement of his unalterable resolve to stand to his guns,
and a "Brayvo, youngster!" from Jenkins, they parted and went on their
several ways.
It was found, when Fort Garry was reached, that the rumour of a visit
from the Sioux Indians was correct, and that some preparation was being
made for their reception, as well as precautions against any mischief
that might be contemplated, though there was not much to be apprehended
on that score, for the Sioux were believed to be among the bravest as
well as the most powerful of the nations east of the Rocky Mountains,
and less addicted to treachery or cruelty than most other tribes.
Two days later the Sioux made their appearance. They formed only a
small band of warriors, but were a wild-looking though fine set of men;
erect, muscular, tall fellows, with the free bearing of practised
warriors, and in all the paint, charcoal, feathers, and leather-costume,
bear-claw collars, etcetera, peculiar to the western wilderness.
Their object, they said, was to smoke the pipe of peace with their
enemies the Saulteaux, and to see with their own eyes the wonderful
things that by report the Palefaces were doing in Red River.
"The Sioux have heard," said their principal chief, at a palaver with
the Governor, "that the Palefaces are building wooden Wigwams in number
like the stones on the shores of Lake Winnipeg; that they are growing
much grain; that they have set up many strange things which they compel
the wind to work for them, and so grind their grain; that they have
great heaps of powder and ball, and big wigwams that are bursting with
things that the Sioux love to exchange for the meat and skins of the
buffalo and other beasts great and small. We have come to see all this
with our own eyes, for most of us are young men who have only heard of
such things from our fathers. Waugh!"
Of course everything was said to encourage this laudable desire for
knowledge. The visitors were shown over the fort. Food was given to
them, and tobacco; then the pipe of peace was smoked with a band of
Saulteaux, which chanced to be on a friendly visit to the settlement at
the time, after which, as was customary on such occasions, both parties
mixed together and strolled about to see the settlers.
One party of them found their way to Prairie Cottage. At some of the
houses nearer the fort they had learned the method of lifting the latch
of a door so as to obtain entrance. Finding no one outside at the
cottage, they entered the central hall with the soft, quiet tread of the
panther. As no one chanced to be there, they continued their
explorations with childlike simplicity, and thus most unexpectedly found
themselves in the bedroom of Dan Davidson, where Little Bill had just
read himself and his brother-invalid into a sound sleep. Both wakened
up at once, and the boy sat bolt upright in blazing astonishment, but
Dan, who had heard of their arrival in the Settlement, received them
with a few words of welcome.
Fortunately for all parties, Okematan presented himself just then,
having, while at work in the garden, seen the party of Sioux arrive. He
did his best to act the host, explaining to the visitors the cause of
Dan's weakness, and, by Dan's directions, offering them tobacco and
pipes.
While they were thus engaged, old McKay entered.
"I saw you comin', lads," he said, heartily. "What cheer? what cheer?"
he added, shaking hands with them all round.
The Sioux were obviously much pleased with their reception, especially
when Mrs Davidson, Jessie, and Elspie, who had been out walking,
returned and joined the party.
After showing the Indians everything in the house, old McKay--who
constituted himself their guide,--took them out to see the live stock
and the farm. He led them first into the garden.
It chanced at this time that there was a "snake in the grass" not far
off. This was no other than the bad Indian Kateegoose.
Why some people are what we call naturally bad, like Kateegoose, while
others are what we call naturally good, like Okematan, is a mystery the
investigation of which we propose postponing to a more convenient
season. Of course no sane person will maintain that this mystery frees
fallen man from responsibility. If it did, we could no longer hang for
murder. It would be the bounden duty of every judge, in that case, to
acquit every murderer with "Poor fellow, it was his fate; he could not
help it!" and send him away with a pat on the shoulder, and an order for
coffee and buns, perhaps, in his pocket. As none but sane persons,
however, will read my book, it is not necessary to enlarge further on
this head.
Certain it is that Kateegoose was "bad"--obdurately bad--had been so
from his very cradle, if he ever had one, which is doubtful, and bade
fair to continue so to his grave. Sutherland had button-holed him more
than once, but apparently in vain. It is only fair to the savage to say
that he listened patiently to the Elder's remonstrances, and attentively
to his exhortations, and assumed an aspect of mild contrition that might
or might not have been sincere--as far as appearance went.
Now, it unfortunately happened that among the Sioux braves there was a
man who had done Kateegoose a deadly injury of some sort, which nothing
short of blood could wipe out. Kateegoose, in familiar parlance,
spotted him at once, and dogged his steps through the Settlement,
watching his opportunity for revenge. In savage life this dogging
process would not have been possible, but in a comparatively crowded
settlement, and in the midst of all the surprising novelties that
surrounded the Palefaces, it was all too easy; for Kateegoose took care
to keep as much as possible in the background, and well under cover of
houses, cottages, carts, stacks, and wigwams; besides which he had
painted his face in such a manner, and so modified his costume, that his
own acquaintances among the settlers--he had no friends--failed to
recognise him. They, in their comparative ignorance of savage life, set
him down as one of the visitors, while the visitors, if they noticed him
at all, esteemed him one of the cross-breeds of the Settlement.
The only man who saw through the disguise of Kateegoose was Okematan,
who could not understand why he had adopted it, and who resolved to keep
a sharp eye on him.
The enemy of Kateegoose was one of the younger Sioux chiefs. He led the
party which visited Prairie Cottage.
The garden of the Cottage, at its lower end towards the river,
approached close to the confines of a thick coppice. It formed the
extremity of a belt of woodland which at that time bordered the river.
There a small summer-house had been erected by Dan and Peter Davidson
for the benefit of their mother and their sister Jessie.
Kateegoose, while dogging his foe, recognised this as a spot very
suitable for his fell purpose, as the contiguous wood afforded a ready
means of escape after the deed should be done.
While old McKay was conducting the Sioux slowly through the garden,
Kateegoose glided swiftly through the thicket to the spot where the
summer-house stood, and took up a position behind it, so that the party
in making the round of the garden would necessarily pass close to him.
From the window of Dan's room, Little Bill observed part of these
mysterious movements and suspected mischief. Without uttering a word he
left the room, opened the front door, and gave a low whistle, which had
been set up as a private signal between him and Okematan. In a few
seconds the Cree chief was by his side.
"Oke, there's mischief intended. You'll have to be quick," he said,
quickly explaining what he had seen.
"Rejoin the party at once," he added, "and look out--sharp."
The chief nodded and walked away. So swift, yet so quiet, had been his
movements that none of the whites of the party had observed his
departure from them. The Sioux, however, had noticed it, and their
suspicions were aroused, especially when they saw him rejoin the party,
and observed that he walked rather closer to them than before. But they
were proud warriors and refused by word, look, or movement, to indicate
their suspicions. They carried bows in their hands, arrows in their
quivers, tomahawks and scalping-knives in their belts, but they scorned
to make any visible demonstration of being on guard in the midst of
Paleface friends, though they gave intense and undivided attention to
the movements of Okematan.
This concentration of attention on the wrong man was, of course, rather
favourable to the designs of Kateegoose, so that, when the party passed
the summer-house, he was enabled to spring upon his enemy, unobserved
for the first moment, with knife upraised. But the stab from which the
Sioux chief could not have escaped was rendered harmless by the prompt
action of Okematan, who threw up his left arm, turned the blow aside,
and received a slight wound in doing so.
There was no time to repeat the blow. With a yell of mingled defiance
and disappointment the would-be assassin leaped the garden fence,
bounded into the thicket, and disappeared. A flight of Sioux arrows
entered the bush almost the moment after. The young chief and his
friends also leaped the fence, and followed in pursuit.
The Sioux were swift and agile undoubtedly, but so was Kateegoose, and
he had the advantage of knowing the ground, while the trail--by which,
in ordinary circumstances, the Red-man can track his enemy through the
forest--was not available there in consequence of its being so mingled
up with the crossing and re-crossing of the innumerable tracks of
settlers. The result was that Kateegoose made his escape.
The Colonists were very indignant at the perpetration of this cowardly
act, for it compromised their character for hospitality; and, if they
could have laid hands on the savage at the time, it is not impossible
that Lynch-law might have been applied to him. The Governor also was
greatly annoyed, and in the afternoon of the following day made the
visitors a number of presents, besides providing for them a feast; but
all his good intentions were spoiled by Kateegoose, who had the audacity
to come forward and deliberately shoot his foe while the Sioux were at
meat. The ball passed quite through the Sioux chief's body, and wounded
the man who was next to him. After this dastardly act the villain fled,
and again got safe away.
The enraged Sioux, seizing their weapons, would have wreaked their
vengeance on the Saulteaux, if they could have discovered any; but these
wily savages had cleared away at the first note of alarm, and not one
was to be found. To have attacked the whites with so small a party
would have been useless as well as unjust. They therefore left the
colony in fierce anger.
It chanced that La Certe had pitched his tent the day before on a stream
not far-distant from the colony. The Sioux had to pass that way, and,
espying the wigwam, turned aside to wreak their vengeance on whomsoever
it might contain. Fortunately the owner of the mansion and his wife had
gone out fishing in a canoe, and taken the child with them. All that
the Sioux could do, therefore, was to appropriate the poor man's goods
and chattels; but as the half-breed had taken his gun, ammunition, and
fishing-tackle with him, there was not much left to appropriate. Having
despoiled the mansion, they set fire to it and went their way.
Returning in the evening, La Certe found his house a heap of ashes, and
himself reduced to a state of destitution. This being his normal state,
however, he was not profoundly affected. Neither was his wife; still
less was his child.
He said no word, but carried the contents of the canoe on shore. His
wife, equally reticent, helped him. His child, lighting its father's
pipe, sat down to smoke and look on.
They turned the canoe bottom up to serve as a partial shelter; they
kindled a huge fire before it; they set up three large fat ducks to
roast in front of it, and were soon busy with a simple but satisfying
supper. After washing this down with an unstimulating draught of pure
water, they put the baby to bed under the bow of the canoe, filled their
pipes, and sat down before the ruddy blaze to mingle their hopes, joys,
prospects, and sorrows in a halo of smoke--the very personification of
primitive contentment and felicity.