The return—Narrow escape—A murderous attempt, which fails—And a
discovery.
All nature was joyous and brilliant, and bright and beautiful. Morning
was still very young—about an hour old. Sounds of the most cheerful,
light-hearted character floated over the waters and echoed through the
woods, as birds and beasts hurried to and fro with all the bustling
energy that betokened preparation and search for breakfast. Fish leaped
in the pools with a rapidity that brought forcibly to mind that wise
saying, “The more hurry, the less speed;” for they appeared constantly
to miss their mark, although they jumped twice their own length out of
the water in the effort.
Ducks and geese sprang from their liquid beds with an amazing amount of
unnecessary sputter, as if they had awakened to the sudden
consciousness of being late for breakfast, then alighted in the water
again with a _squash,_ on finding (probably) that it was too early for
that meal, but, observing other flocks passing and re-passing on noisy
wing, took to flight again, unable, apparently, to restrain their
feelings of delight at the freshness of the morning air, the brightness
of the rising sun, and the sweet perfume of the dewy verdure, as the
mists cleared away over the tree-tops and lost themselves in the blue
sky. Everything seemed instinct not only with life, but with a large
amount of superabundant energy. Earth, air, sky, animal, vegetable, and
mineral, solid and liquid, all were either actually in a state of
lively exulting motion, or had a peculiarly sprightly look about them,
as if nature had just burst out of prison _en masse_, and gone raving
mad with joy.
Such was the delectable state of things the morning on which two canoes
darted from the camp of the Knisteneux, amid many expressions of
goodwill. One canoe contained our two friends, Charley and Jacques; the
other, Redfeather and his wife Wabisca.
A few strokes of the paddle shot them out into the stream, which
carried them rapidly away from the scene of their late festivities. In
five minutes they swept round a point which shut them out from view,
and they were swiftly descending those rapid rivers that had cost
Charley and Jacques so much labour to ascend.
“Look out for rocks ahead, Mr. Charles,” cried Jacques, as he steered
the light bark into the middle of a rapid, which they had avoided when
ascending by making a portage. “Keep well to the left of yon swirl.
_Parbleu_, if we touch the rock _there_ it’ll be all over with us.”
“All right,” was Charley’s laconic reply. And so it proved, for their
canoe, after getting fairly into the run of the rapid, was evidently
under the complete command of its expert crew, and darted forward amid
the foaming waters like a thing instinct with life. Now it careered and
plunged over the waves where the rough bed of the stream made them more
than usually turbulent. Anon it flew with increased rapidity through a
narrow gap where the compressed water was smooth and black, but deep
and powerful, rendering great care necessary to prevent the canoe’s
frail sides from being dashed on the rocks. Then it met a curling wave,
into which it plunged like an impetuous charger, and was checked for a
moment by its own violence. Presently an eddy threw the canoe a little
out of its course, disconcerting Charley’s intention of _shaving_ a
rock, which lay in their track, so that he slightly grazed it in
passing.
“Ah, Mr. Charles,” said Jacques, shaking his head, “that was not well
done; an inch more would have sent us down the rapids like drowned
cats.”
“True,” replied Charley, somewhat crestfallen; “but you see the other
inch was not lost, so we’re not much the worse for it.”
“Well, after all, it was a ticklish bit, and I should have guessed that
your experience was not up to it quite. I’ve seen many a man in my day
who wouldn’t ha’ done it _half_ so slick, an’ yet ha’ thought no small
beer of himself; so you needn’t be ashamed, Mr. Charles. But Wabisca
beats you for all that,” continued the hunter, glancing hastily over
his shoulder at Redfeather, who followed closely in their wake, he and
his modest-looking wife guiding their little craft through the
dangerous passages with the utmost _sangfroid_ and precision.
“We’ve about run them all now,” said Jacques, as they paddled over a
sheet of still water which intervened between the rapid they had just
descended and another which thundered about a hundred yards in advance.
“I was so engrossed with the one we have just come down,” said Charley,
“that I quite forgot this one.”
“Quite right, Mr. Charles,” said Jacques, in an approving tone, “quite
right. I holds that a man should always attend to what he’s at, an’ to
nothin’ else. I’ve lived long in the woods now, and the fact becomes
more and more sartin every day. I’ve know’d chaps, now, as timersome as
settlement girls, that were always in such a mortal funk about what
_was_ to happen, or _might_ happen, that they were never fit for
anything that _did_ happen; always lookin’ ahead, and never around
them. Of coorse, I don’t mean that a man shouldn’t look ahead at all,
but their great mistake was that they looked out too far ahead, and
always kep’ their eyes nailed there, just as if they had the fixin’ o’
everything, an’ Providence had nothin’ to do with it at all. I mind a
Canadian o’ that sort that travelled in company with me once. We were
goin’ just as we are now, Mr. Charles, two canoes of us; him and a
comrade in one, and me and a comrade in t’other. One night we got to a
lot o’ rapids that came one after another for the matter o’ three miles
or thereabouts. They were all easy ones, however, except the last; but
it _was_ a tickler, with a sharp turn o’ the land that hid it from
sight until ye were right into it, with a foamin’ current, and a range
o’ ragged rocks that stood straight in front o’ ye, like the teeth of a
cross-cut saw. It was easy enough, however, if a man _knew_ it, and was
a cool hand. Well, the _pauvre_ Canadian was in a terrible takin’ about
this shoot long afore he came to it. He had run it often enough in
boats where he was one of a half-dozen men, and had nothin’ to do but
look on; but he had never _steered_ down it before. When he came to the
top o’ the rapids, his mind was so filled with this shoot that he
couldn’t attend to nothin’, and scraped agin’ a dozen rocks in almost
smooth water, so that when he got a little more than half-way down, the
canoe was as rickety as if it had just come off a six months’ cruise.
At last we came to the big rapid, and after we’d run down our canoe I
climbed the bank to see them do it. Down they came, the poor Canadian
white as a sheet, and his comrade, who was brave enough, but knew
nothin’ about light craft, not very comfortable. At first he could see
nothin’ for the point, but in another moment round they went, end on,
for the big rocks. The Canadian gave a great yell when he saw them, and
plunged at the paddle till I thought he’d have capsized altogether.
They ran it well enough, straight between the rocks (more by good luck
than good guidance), and sloped down to the smooth water below; but the
canoe had got such a battering in the rapids above, where an Injin baby
could have steered it in safety, that the last plunge shook it all to
pieces. It opened up, and lay down flat on the water, while the two men
fell right through the bottom, screechin’ like mad, and rolling about
among shreds o’ birch bark!”
While Jacques was thus descanting philosophically on his experience in
time past, they had approached the head of the second rapid, and in
accordance with the principles just enunciated, the stout backwoodsman
gave his undivided attention to the work before him. The rapid was
short and deep, so that little care was required in descending it,
excepting at one point, where the stream rushed impetuously between two
rocks about six yards asunder. Here it was requisite to keep the canoe
as much in the middle of the stream as possible.
Just as they began to feel the drag of the water, Redfeather was heard
to shout in a loud warning tone, which caused Jacques and Charley to
back their paddles hurriedly.
“What can the Injin mean, I wonder?” said Jacques, in a perplexed tone.
“He don’t look like a man that would stop us at the top of a strong
rapid for nothin’.”
“It’s too late to do that now, whatever is his reason,” said Charley,
as he and his companion struggled in vain to paddle up stream.
“It’s no use, Mr. Charles; we must run it now—the current’s too strong
to make head against; besides, I do think the man has only seen a bear,
or something o’ that sort, for I see he’s ashore, and jumpin’ among the
bushes like a cariboo.”
Saying this, they turned the canoe’s head down stream again, and
allowed it to drift, merely retarding its progress a little with the
paddles.
Suddenly Jacques uttered a sharp exclamation. “_Mon Dieu!_” said he,
“it’s plain enough now. Look there!”
Jacques pointed as he spoke to the narrows to which they were now
approaching with tremendous speed, which increased every instant. A
heavy tree lay directly across the stream, reaching from rock to rock,
and placed in such a way that it was impossible for a canoe to descend
without being dashed in pieces against it. This was the more curious
that no trees grew in the immediate vicinity, so that this one must
have been designedly conveyed there.
“There has been foul work here,” said Jacques, in a deep tone. “We must
dive, Mr. Charles; there’s no chance any way else, and _that’s_ but a
poor one.”
This was true. The rocks on each side rose almost perpendicularly out
of the water, so that it was utterly impossible to run ashore, and the
only way of escape, as Jacques said, was by diving under the tree, a
thing involving great risk, as the stream immediately below was broken
by rocks, against which it dashed in foam, and through which the
chances of steering one’s way in safety by means of swimming were very
slender indeed.
Charley made no reply, but with tightly-compressed lips, and a look of
stern resolution on his brow, threw off his coat, and hastily tied his
belt tightly round his waist. The canoe was now sweeping forward with
lightning speed; in a few minutes it would be dashed to pieces.
At that moment a shout was heard in the woods, and Redfeather darting
out, rushed over the ledge of rock on which one end of the tree rested,
seized the trunk in his arms, and exerting all his strength, hurled it
over into the river. In doing so he stumbled, and ere he could recover
himself a branch caught him under the arm as the tree fell over, and
dragged him into the boiling stream. This accident was probably the
means of saving his life, for just as he fell the loud report of a gun
rang through the woods, and a bullet passed through his cap. For a
second or two both man and tree were lost in the foam, while the canoe
dashed past in safety. The next instant Wabisca passed the narrows in
her small craft, and steered for the tree. Redfeather, who had risen
and sunk several times, saw her as she passed, and making a violent
effort, he caught hold of the gunwale, and was carried down in safety.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Jacques, as the party stood on a rock
promontory after the events just narrated: “I would give a dollar to
have that fellow’s nose and the sights o’ my rifle in a line at any
distance short of two hundred yards.”
“It was Misconna,” said Redfeather. “I did not see him, but there’s not
another man in the tribe that could do that.”
“I’m thankful we escaped, Jacques. I never felt so near death before,
and had it not been for the timely aid of our friend here, it strikes
me that our wild life would have come to an abrupt close.—God bless
you, Redfeather,” said Charley, taking the Indian’s hand in both of his
and kissing it.
Charley’s ebullition of feeling was natural. He had not yet become used
to the dangers of the wilderness so as to treat them with indifference.
Jacques, on the other hand, had risked his life so often that escape
from danger was treated very much as a matter of course, and called
forth little expression of feeling. Still, it must not be inferred from
this that his nature had become callous. The backwoodsman’s frame was
hard and unyielding as iron, but his heart was as soft still as it was
on the day on which he first donned the hunting-shirt, and there was
much more of tenderness than met the eye in the squeeze that he gave
Redfeather’s hand on landing.
As the four travellers encircled the fire that night, under the leafy
branches of the forest, and smoked their pipes in concert, while
Wabisca busied herself in clearing away the remnants of their evening
meal, they waxed communicative, and stories, pathetic, comic, and
tragic, followed each other in rapid succession.
“Now, Redfeather,” said Charley, while Jacques rose and went down to
the luggage to get more tobacco, “tell Jacques about the way in which
you got your name. I am sure he will feel deeply interested in that
story—at least I am certain that Harry Somerville and I did when you
told it to us the day we were wind-bound on Lake Winnipeg.”
Redfeather made no reply for a few seconds. “Will Mr. Charles speak for
me?” he said at length. “His tongue is smooth and quick.”
“A doubtful kind of compliment,” said Charley, laughing; “but I will,
if you don’t wish to tell it yourself.”
“And don’t mention names. Do not let him know that you speak of me or
my friends,” said the Indian, in a low whisper, as Jacques returned and
sat down by the fire again.
Charley gave him a glance of surprise; but being prevented from asking
questions, he nodded in reply, and proceeded to relate to his friend
the story that has been recounted in a previous chapter. Redfeather
leaned back against a tree, and appeared to listen intently.
Charley’s powers of description were by no means inconsiderable, and
the backwoodsman’s face assumed a look of good-humoured attention as
the story proceeded. But when the narrator went on to tell of the
meditated attack and the midnight march, his interest was aroused, the
pipe which he had been smoking was allowed to go out, and he gazed at
his young friend with the most earnest attention. It was evident that
the hunter’s spirit entered with deep sympathy into such scenes; and
when Charley described the attack, and the death of the trapper’s wife,
Jacques seemed unable to restrain his feelings. He leaned his elbows on
his knees, buried his face in his hands, and groaned aloud.
“Mr. Charles,” he said, in a deep voice, when the story was ended,
“there are two men I would like to meet with in this world before I
die. One is the young Injin who tried to save that girl’s life, the
other is the cowardly villain that took it. I don’t mean the one who
finished the bloody work: my rifle sent his accursed spirit to its own
place—”
“_Your_ rifle!” cried Charley, in amazement.
“Ay, mine! It was _my_ wife who was butchered by these savage dogs on
that dark night. Oh, what avails the strength o’ that right arm!” said
Jacques, bitterly, as he lifted up his clenched fist; “it was powerless
to save _her_—the sweet girl who left her home and people to follow me,
a rough hunter, through the lonesome wilderness!”
He covered his face again, and groaned in agony of spirit, while his
whole frame quivered with emotion.
Jacques remained silent, and his sympathising friends refrained from
intruding on a sorrow which they felt they had no power to relieve.
At length he spoke. “Yes,” said he, “I would give much to meet with the
man who tried to save her. I saw him do it twice; but the devils about
him were too eager to be balked of their prey.”
Charley and the Indian exchanged glances. “That Indian’s name,” said
the former, “was _Redfeather!_”
“What!” exclaimed the trapper, jumping to his feet, and grasping
Redfeather, who had also risen, by the two shoulders, stared wildly in
his face; “was it _you_ that did it?”
Redfeather smiled, and held out his hand, which the other took and
wrung with an energy that would have extorted a cry of pain from any
one but an Indian. Then, dropping it suddenly and clinching his hands,
he exclaimed,—
“I said that I would like to meet the villain who killed her—yes, I
said it in passion, when your words had roused all my old feelings
again; but I am thankful—I bless God that I did not know this
sooner—that you did not tell me of it when I was at the camp, for I
verily believe that I would not only have fixed _him_, but half the
warriors o’ your tribe too, before they had settled _me!_”
It need scarcely be added that the friendship which already subsisted
between Jacques and Redfeather was now doubly cemented; nor will it
create surprise when we say that the former, in the fulness of his
heart, and from sheer inability to find adequate outlets for the
expression of his feelings, offered Redfeather in succession all the
articles of value he possessed, even to the much-loved rifle, and was
seriously annoyed at their not being accepted. At last he finished off
by assuring the Indian that he might look out for him soon at the
missionary settlement, where he meant to stay with him evermore in the
capacity of hunter, fisherman, and jack-of-all-trades to the whole
clan.