Owing to the success of the buffalo runners, the winter passed away in
comparative comfort. But, as we have said, some of the settlers who had
been ruined by the failure of the fisheries and the depredations of the
mice, and who did not share much in the profits of the autumn hunt, were
obliged once again to seek their old port of refuge at Pembina.
Among these was the Swiss family Morel. Andre went, because he did not
wish to remain comparatively idle in the colony during the long months
of winter. Elise went for the purpose of keeping house--perhaps we
should say keeping hut--for Andre. Fred Jenkins went because he wanted
to learn more about Indian ways and customs, as well as to perfect
himself in the art of hunting the buffalo--that was all!
There were some who did not believe what the bold seaman said. Elise
Morel was one of these--perhaps the most unbelieving amongst them.
Indeed, she laughed quite hilariously when his motive was reported to
her by Billie Sinclair the day before they started.
"Why do you laugh so?" inquired Little Bill, who was always more or less
in a state of surprise when he got upon this subject with Elise.
"It is not easy to say, Billie," answered the girl, with another
pleasant little laugh, "but it is so funny that a sailor should take
such a fancy to come out here, so far away from his native element, and
find so much interest in snow-shoe walking and Indian customs."
"Yes, isn't it?" responded the boy, "and him such a fine big man, too,
who has gone through so much, and seen so many lands, and been in such a
lot o' fights with pirates, and all that kind of thing. I can't
understand him at all. I wish I understood him better, for I like him
very much. Don't you?"
Elise was so much taken up with what she was doing at the time that she
could not answer the question, and Billie was in such a wandering state
of mind that he neglected to press it!
Daniel Davidson also went to Pembina that winter, because he could not
bear to press the subject of his marriage just after the destruction of
his and old McKay's crops by mice--a disaster which told rather heavily
on both families. When winter had passed away, he, along with many
others, returned to the colony and made preparations for going out to
the plains for the spring hunt with the buffalo runners.
"You will better not be goin' wi' them," said Duncan McKay senior to his
younger son, some days before the hunters had arranged to set out. "It
will not be safe after your trial, for the half-breeds are mad at you,
Tuncan."
If the old man had been wise enough to have left his son alone, Duncan
junior would probably have remained where he was; but the mere offer of
advice roused in him the spirit of opposition, and that reference to the
half-breeds decided him.
"If all the half-breeds in Rud River wass to go as mad as buffalo-bulls
wi' their tails cut off, I would go," said Duncan junior, with quiet
decision of tone and manner, as he lighted his pipe.
"Ay, it iss that same you would do if you wass to be hanged to-morrow
for doin' it, Tuncan," returned the old man testily, as he fired
cloudlets in rapid succession from his compressed lips.
Duncan junior was equally firm in replying to his sister's remonstrances
later in the day.
"You know, dear Duncan," she said, "that, although I believe you to be
quite innocent, most of the half-breeds are of the opposite opinion, and
some of them are very revengeful, especially when they think they have
been deceived or unjustly treated."
"I do not fear the half-breeds," replied the youth gruffly.
"Of course you don't, Duncan, but you know that, though most of them are
good, trusty men, some are mean fellows, who would not hesitate to shoot
you in the smoke and confusion of the hunt. Do give up the idea, for my
sake, dear."
"I would do much for your sake, Elspie, but not this, for it iss showin'
the white feather I am, they will be sayin', and, as father often says,
that iss what must never be true of a McKay."
Accordingly, Duncan junior mounted his horse, and accompanied Dan,
Peter, Fergus, Okematan, Morel, Jenkins, and others to the plains, where
they found that the main body of the hunters, under Antoine Dechamp, had
arrived just before them. Kateegoose was also there, and La Certe, who
once more tried his fortune at the chase under all the advantages of a
new cart and horse, a new gun, and a new outfit--all received on
credit--to be paid for by the proceeds of the chase, as the creditors,
hoping against hope, tried to believe; never to be paid for at all, as
the easy-going La Certe more than half suspected--though he was far too
honest a man to admit that even to himself.
Of course, Slowfoot was with him--amiable, meek, and silent as ever.
And so was Baby La Certe, a five-year-old by that time, and obviously a
girl with a stronger penchant than ever for tobacco!
"The buffalo have been found already," said Dechamp to Dan Davidson, as
the latter rode into camp at the head of his party. "Bourassin has just
come in with the report that they are in great numbers away to the
nor'-west, so we will make a fair start first thing in the morning."
As he spoke, Dechamp glanced with evident surprise at Duncan McKay.
"Why did you let him come?" he said in an under-tone to Dan, as they
were tying up the horses.
"How could I prevent him?" replied Dan.
Next morning all was bustle, eager expectation, and lively conversation
in the camp. Archie was there again, promoted to the condition of a
full-fledged hunter by the possession of a gun. Little Bill was there
also. He had improved so much in health and strength that he was
permitted to ride with the runners on a pony; but was to content himself
with viewing the battle from afar--that is, well in rear.
"Now, Little Bill," said Archie, with the seriousness of a grandfather,
as they galloped with the hunters over the rolling plains, across which
were streaming the first beams of the rising sun, "you must promise me
to keep well in rear, and on no account to join in the chase. It's of
no use to go in without a gun, you know, and there is great risk when in
the thick of it, that you may come across a bullet or two. You'll have
all the fun without the danger, Little Bill."
"All right, old boy; I'll do my best."
"Hallo, Archie!" cried Jenkins, galloping up alongside, with the
blunderbuss in his left hand, "I've bin lookin' for you, lad. It's not
easy to spy out a friend in such a shoal o' queer craft. Are 'ee goin'
to sail alongside o' me this bout?"
"Of course I am, Fred. A man that can steer his way by compass over
such a sea o' grass is worth holding on to."
"Well, then, heave ahead. We'll hunt in couples. I see they're gettin'
into line o' battle, which means that the enemy's in view."
The sailor was right. Buffalo were seen grazing in the far distance,
and the cavalcade was getting into line so as to advance in good order.
As on a former occasion, they approached at a slow pace until the
animals began to lift their heads and throw inquiring glances in the
direction from which the mounted host came. Then the word was given to
trot, and, finally, to charge.
The rush on this occasion was even more tremendous than on the former,
for there were considerably more men, and a larger herd of buffalo.
The lumbering heavy gait of the latter at the first start did not
suggest the racing speed to which the clumsy creatures attained when
they were hard pressed. Soon the dropping shots of the fast riders
swelled into the rattling musketry of the real fight, and ere long the
plain became strewed with dead and wounded animals, while smoke and dust
obscured the air.
There was no order maintained after the first onset. Every man seemed
to fight for his own hand. Crossing and re-crossing and firing
recklessly in all directions, it seemed a very miracle that no fatal
accidents occurred. Minor ones there were. Archie and his nautical
comrade witnessed a few of these.
"I say, look at Bourassin!" exclaimed the former, pointing to the left
with his nose--both hands being fully engaged with gun and bridle.
The seaman's eye turned in the direction indicated, and he beheld
Bourassin's horse stopped by the hairy forehead of a buffalo-bull, while
Bourassin himself was in the act of describing a magnificent parabolic
curve over the buffalo's back. He alighted on his back, fortunately on
a low bush, a yard or two beyond the buffalo's tail.
"Killed!" exclaimed Jenkins, anxiously, as he turned his horse in the
direction of the fallen man.
But the seaman was wrong. The hunter did indeed lie flat and motionless
for a few seconds--which was just as well, for it gave the bull time to
toss off the horse, turn, and leap over the prostrate man in continuing
its flight; but in another moment Bourassin was on his feet, soon caught
his trembling horse, remounted, and continued the chase.
A little further on they saw Peter Davidson's horse put his foot in a
badger-hole, the result of which was that the horse rolled over in one
direction, while the expert Peter, tumbling cleverly to one side, rolled
away in another direction like a Catherine-wheel. Both horse and man
arose unhurt, and, like Bourassin, continued the chase.
"Necks ain't easy broke in this here country," remarked the seaman, as
Archie pushed past him in pursuit of a fat young cow.
"Not often. Necks are tough, you see, and ground is mostly soft," cried
Archie, as he fired and dropped the cow.
"Who's that away to the right, ridin' like a madman after a calf?" asked
Jenkins, overtaking Archie, who was recharging his gun at the gallop.
"Who--where?" cried the boy, looking impatiently round.
"Keep cool, lad! Whatever condition you chance to be in, whether of
danger or safety, always keep cool. For why?--it makes you comfortable,
or more fit for action, as the case may be. See, the fellow over there
half-hidden by smoke."
"Why, that's Duncan McKay. You might know him by his hat."
"I ain't a good judge o' hats," remarked the seaman, as he fired at a
bull and missed it. "Ha! that comes o' firin' at long range," he said.
"It was at least six yards off, an' I can't count on the old blunderbuss
beyond five. Better luck next time!"
"Hallo! Jenkins, did you hear that?"
"What?"
"That shriek? I'm sure some one has been hurt."
"Very likely, lad. There's many a cropper a-goin' on just now, an' we
can't all expect to come off scot-free."
"The voice sounded like that of Fergus," said Archie, "but I can see
nothing for smoke now. Is that a man on the ground over there?"
"Don't know, Archie. Out o' the way, lad; there's another chance. Must
get closer this time."
The tide of the chase swept on with irresistible fury, and not one of
all the band saw that the man who had fallen did not rise.
Following close in rear, and profoundly excited with this new and wild
experience of life, came Little Bill, galloping along on his pony.
The poor boy had either greatly benefited by his recent adventures, or a
change had taken place in his constitution, for he rode with ease, and
found that he could walk considerable distances without the old weary
feeling of exhaustion.
As Little Bill passed over the prairie, which resembled a field of
battle where, not men, but buffaloes had been the combatants, he came
suddenly upon the dismounted hunter, who lay prone upon his face.
"Poor man!" thought Little Bill, pulling up and dismounting, "he seems
to have been badly stunned."
Stooping down he turned the fallen man over on his back with some
difficulty, and then discovered, to his consternation, that it was young
Duncan McKay, and that blood was flowing from a wound in his side.
The shock at first deprived Billie of the power to do anything, but in a
very few minutes his strong common sense returned, and his first act was
to open Duncan's coat and stanch the wound. This he accomplished by
means of a strip torn off the poor man's cotton shirt, and the long red
worsted belt with which the hunter's capote was bound. Then he took
from his pocket a small bottle of water, with which he had provided
himself in case of need, and poured a little into Duncan's mouth.
The result of these operations was that the fallen man opened his eyes
after a while, raised himself on one elbow, and looked round in a dazed
manner.
"What iss it that has come over me?" he asked, faintly.
"You have fallen off your horse, I think," answered the boy, "and I--I'm
afraid a bullet has wounded you in the side."
"Bullet! Side!" exclaimed Duncan, looking quickly down at the bandage,
and attempting to rise. "Little Bill, you must--"
He stopped; seemed to grow faint, and fell down; but quickly raised
himself again on one elbow and looked round.
"Shot!--dying!" he muttered; then turning to the boy--"Stay by me,
Little Bill. Don't leave me here all alone."
"No, I won't leave you, unless--perhaps it would be better if I rode
back to camp for help."
"True, true. It's my only chance," said the poor man, faintly. "Go,
Billie, and go quick. Put something under my head. And--stay--leave
your gun with me."
"I'm so sorry I haven't got one, but here is my bottle of water; you may
want that, and--"
He stopped, for Duncan had evidently fainted again.
The poor boy was terribly alarmed at this. He had wit enough to
perceive that prompt action was needed, for his friend was in very great
danger, while the buffalo runners were by that time out of sight in
front, and the camp was far behind. In this crisis Billie acted with
decision. First making the bandage over the wound more secure, and
pouring a little more water into the mouth of the wounded man, he went
to a clump of willows, and cut a stout switch, then, remounting, he
turned on his track and made straight for the camp as fast as his
willing pony could be made to lay hoof to the ground.
Arrived there, to his great relief he found the Cree chief Okematan, for
that eccentric individual had, owing to some unknown reason, refrained
from joining in the hunt that day. La Certe was also there.
In a few minutes, mounted on a fresh horse, Little Bill was galloping
over the prairie, acting as guide to Okematan, while La Certe followed
them, driving a cart with a couple of buffalo-robes in it.
That night, instead of rejoicing in the camp of the buffalo runners
after their successful hunt, there was uneasiness and gloom, for Duncan
McKay lay in his tent dangerously wounded, and it was generally believed
that the shot which laid him low had been fired not by accident, but
with deliberate intent to kill.