"Does my Slowfoot still like _work_?"
"She likes it still--likes it better."
"And she _does_ it--sometimes?"
"Yes, often--always."
"Why?"
"Because Mr Sutherland advises me--and I like Mr Sutherland."
"Does my Slowfoot expect me to like work too, and to _do_ it?" asked La
Certe with a peculiar glance.
"We cannot like what we don't like, though we may do it," answered the
wife, drawing perilously near to the metaphysical, "but Slowfoot expects
nothing. She waits. My Francois is not a child. He can judge of all
things for himself."
"That is true, my Slowfoot; and, do you know," he added, earnestly, "I
have had hard work--awfully hard work--killing work--since I have been
away, yet it has not killed me. Perhaps you will doubt me when I tell
you that I, too, rather like it!"
"That is strange," said Slowfoot, with more of interest in her air than
she had shown for many a day. "Why do you like it?"
"I think," returned the husband, slowly, "it is because I like Dan
Davidson. I like him very much, and it was to please him that I began
to work hard, for, you know, he was very anxious to get home in time to
be at his own wedding. So that made me work _hard_, and now I find that
hard work is not hard when we like people. Is it not strange, my
Slowfoot?"
"Yes. Your words are very like the words of Mr Sutherland to-day. It
is very strange!"
Yet, after all, it was not so very strange, for this worthy couple had
only been led to the discovery of the old, well-known fact that--"Love
is the fulfilling of the law."
There was yet another of those whose fortunes we have followed thus far
who learned the same lesson.
About the same time that the events just described took place in Red
River, there assembled a large band of feathered and painted warriors in
a secluded coppice far out on the prairie. They had met for a grave
palaver. The subject they had been discussing was not war, but peace.
Several of the chiefs and braves had given their opinions, and now all
eyes were turned towards the spot where the great chief of all was
seated, with a white-man beside him. That great chief was Okematan.
The Paleface was Peter Davidson.
Rising with the dignity that befitted his rank, Okematan, in a low but
telling voice, delivered himself, as follows:
"When Okematan left his people and went to live for a time in the
wigwams of the Palefaces, he wished to find out for himself what they
wanted in our land, and why they were not content to remain in their own
land. The answer that was at first given to my questions seemed to me
good--a reply that might have even come from the wise heads of the Cree
Nation; but, after much palaver, I found that there was contradiction in
what the Palefaces said, so that I began to think they were fools and
knew not how to talk wisely. A Cree never reasons foolishly--as you all
know well--or, if he does, we regard him as nobody--fit only to fight
and to die without any one caring much. But as I lived longer with the
Palefaces I found that they were not all fools. Some things they knew
and did well. Other things they did ill and foolishly. Then I was
puzzled, for I found that they did not all think alike, as we do, and
that some have good hearts as well as good heads. Others have the heads
without the hearts, and some have the hearts without the heads--Waugh!"
"Waugh!" repeated the listening braves, to fill up the pause here, as it
were, with a note of approval.
"The Palefaces told me," continued Okematan with great deliberation, as
if about to make some astounding revelations, "that their land was too
small to hold them, and so they came away. I told them that that was
wise; that Cree Indians would have done the same. But then came the
puzzle, for they told me that there were vast tracts of land where they
lived with plenty of lakes, rivers, and mountains, in which there was
nobody--only fish and birds and deer. Then I said, `You told me that
your land was too small to hold you; why did you not go and live on
these mountains, and fish and shoot and be happy?' To this they
answered that those fine lands were claimed by a few great chiefs, who
kept them for their own shooting and fishing, and drove out all the
braves with their wives and families and little ones to crowd upon the
shores of the great salt-water lake, and live there on a few fish and
shells--for even there the great chiefs would not allow them to have all
the fishing, but kept the best of it for themselves! Or, if they did
not like that, the poor braves were told to go and live in what they
called cities--where there are thousands of wigwams crowded together,
and even piled on the top of each other,--but I think the Palefaces were
telling lies when they said that--Waugh!"
Again there were many "Waughie" responses, mingled with numerous "Ho's!"
of astonishment, and a few other sounds that seemed to indicate
disbelief in Okematan's veracity.
"What," continued Okematan, with considerable vehemence, "what would my
braves do if Okematan and a few of the Cree chiefs were to take all the
lands of Red River, and all the buffalo, and all the birds and beasts to
themselves, and drive the braves with their families to the shores of
Lake Winnipeg, to live there on fish, or die, or leave the country if
they did not like it! What would they do?"
Okematan's voice increased in fervour, and he put the finishing question
with an intensity that called forth a chorus of "Waughs!" and "Ho's!"
with a glittering of eyes, and a significant grasping of scalping-knives
and tomahawks that rendered further reply needless.
"Would you not scorn us," he continued, "scalp us, tear out our eyes,
roast us alive?--but no--the Cree Nation loves not cruelty. You would
merely pat us on the head, and tell us to go and make moccasins, and
boil the kettle with the squaws!
"Then, when I began to know them better, I found that all the Paleface
chiefs over the great salt lake are not greedy and foolish. Some are
open-handed and wise. I also found that there is a tribe among them,
who lived chiefly in the mountain lands. These are very kind, very
brave, very wise, and very grave. They do not laugh so loud as the
others, but when they are amused their eyes twinkle and their sides
shake more. This tribe is called Scos-mins. I love the Scos-mins! I
lived in the wigwam of one. He is old and fierce, but he is not bad,
and his heart is large. In his house were some other Scos-mins--braves
and squaws. They were very kind to me. This is one of them."
The flashing eyes of the entire party were turned upon Peter Davidson,
who, however, had presence of mind enough to gaze at the cloudless
heavens with immovable solemnity and abstraction.
"There are two others, whom I look upon as sons. One is named Arch-ee;
the other Leetil Beel. Now," continued Okematan, after a pause, "my
advice is that we should teach the Paleface chiefs over the great salt
lake a lesson, by receiving the poor braves who have been driven away
from their own lands and treating them as brothers. Our land is large.
There is room for all--and _our_ chiefs will never seize it. Our hearts
are large; there is plenty of room there too.
"The Great Spirit who rules over all inclines my heart to go and dwell
with the Palefaces until I understand them better, and teach them some
of the wisdom of the Red-man. I shall return to Red River to-morrow,
along with my Paleface brother whose name is Pee-ter, and while I am
away I counsel my braves and brothers to dwell and hunt and fish
together in love and peace."
How it fared with Okematan on his self-imposed mission we cannot tell,
but we do know that from 1821--the date of the auspicious coalition
before mentioned--the sorely tried colony began steadily to prosper,
and, with the exception of the mishaps incident to all new colonies, and
a disastrous flood or two, has continued to prosper ever since.
Civilisation has made rapid and giant strides, especially during the
later years of the century. The wave has rushed far and deep over the
old boundaries, and now the flourishing city of Winnipeg, with its
thousands of inhabitants, occupies the ground by the banks of the Red
River, on which, not many years ago, the old Fort Garry stood, a sort of
sentinel-outpost, guarding the solitudes of what was at that time
considered a remote part of the great wilderness of Rupert's Land.