The road along which the travellers proceeded was desolate and dreary in
the extreme.
Already darkened by clouds and snow-drift, it was rendered still more
gloomy by overhanging and snow-laden branches of stunted pines. It was
just broad enough to permit the passage of a single vehicle, being a
mere woodman's track, which had been extended beyond the ordinary limits
of such tracks, for his personal convenience, by Jonas Bellew, a trapper
who dwelt at that part of the coast already mentioned as Boulder Creek.
The track followed the windings of a streamlet which was at that time
covered with snow, and only distinguishable by the absence of bushes
along its course. It turned now to the right, now to the left, as
rocks, or mounds, or cliffs presented obstacles. In some places it
dived precipitately into a hollow that necessitated careful driving; in
others it ran straight up to the brow of a hill at an angle that obliged
the travellers not only to get out and walk, but also to aid their
panting pony by putting their shoulders to the back of the sleigh. Here
and there a level patch occurred over which they trotted briskly, and
then down they went again by a steep incline into the bed of an
ice-buried stream, to find a similarly steep ascent on the other side.
Occasionally, coming to a wall-like cliff surrounded by a tangled and
trackless forest, they were forced to seek the shores of the sea, and
there, among rocks and ice-drift, pick their way slowly along.
Fortunately this road, just opposite to Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods
had commenced their squatting operations, ran along the shore at some
distance from the entrance to the creek, so that Redding could pass
without encountering the newcomers, whom he was anxious to avoid until
the question of the invasion of the Fur Company's rights was settled.
Despite their utmost efforts, night began to close upon the travellers
before they reached Bellew's shanty in Boulder Creek.
"Take care, Monsieur, there is von portion dangereux here," said
Francois Le Rue.
"Where?" asked Redding, as he checked the pony a little and looked
earnestly ahead.
"Ah! dere!" exclaimed Le Rue.
His remark was needless, for at that moment the sleigh turned over a
ledge of rock and pitched its occupants into a snow-drift.
"Killded?" gasped the Canadian, as he emerged from the snow with eyes,
ears, and nostrils stuffed full; "no--not quite!"
Satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he turned abruptly to look
for his companion, whose motionless legs sticking out of the drift were
the only visible portions of his body.
Anxiously and swiftly did Francois drag his master out, and great was
his relief when poor Redding looked at him with a bewildered gaze and
demanded to know what had happened!
"Oh! I see, capsized," he said, rising and pressing his hand to his
brow, "I believe I must have hit my head against a stump, for I've been
slightly stunned. However, `all's well that ends well.' Not hurt,
Francois?"
"No, Monsieur,--not fatever."
"That's right, lend a hand to lift the sleigh--hoop! there--jump in."
Le Rue obeyed. The bear-rug was replaced around them, and the pony,
which had stood as quiet as a lamb during the accident, started forward
again.
"Voila! von light," exclaimed the Canadian.
At that moment they had rounded the corner of a high cliff, and come
into view of Boulder Creek. There was just light enough to make the
chaotic grandeur of the place visible in a ghostly degree. Great
boulders and masses of rock, which had fallen from the neighbouring
mountains and cliffs, lay piled about in the creek or gully in wildest
confusion. Some of these masses were as large as a small hut, but they
were of all sizes as well as shapes. It was a weird scene, and
forbidding; nevertheless some human being had seen fit to take up his
abode there, as was made apparent by the light referred to by Le Rue.
Picking their way carefully among the boulders, the travellers at last
reached a log-hut which was so small, weather-worn, and grey, that, from
a short distance, it might have easily been mistaken, even in daylight,
for one of the rocks by which it was surrounded.
The door stood wide open, and through it streamed the light of a roaring
fire of wood. So powerful was the contrast between the ruddy light and
the cold grey scene without, that to the approaching travellers it
appeared as if the whole interior of the hut glowed with fervent heat.
In the small doorway stood the figure of a man who was so large as
almost to fill up the entrance, and so black, by contrast with the
glowing background, that neither feature nor form was distinguishable
save his sharp outline. The outline, however, was a remarkably telling
one. It told of a broad chest and square shoulders, of massive limbs,
and an easy air, and a sturdy attitude, and suggested difficulty in the
way of entering that hut without leave asked and obtained.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the outline, in a voice so deep that it must have
been unfathomable.
"How d'ee do, Bellew?" cried Reginald Redding, as he drove into the
stream of light, pulled up, and sprang from the sleigh.
"Hearty, sir, hearty, thank 'ee," replied the outline, advancing and
becoming a little more visible on the surface as he did so. "Hallo! Le
Rue, how are 'ee? Glad to see you both. Step in. A good fire on a
coldish night is cheery--ain't it, Mister Redding?"
"Indeed it is, Bellew, especially when the night happens to be also
darkish."
"Ha! oui," interposed Le Rue, bustling into the hut with the bear-rug,
"it vas so darkish dat ve capsize under de cliff an' a'most knock de
whole affair to smattoms--sleigh, cheval, an' peepil."
"I'm glad to see that the `peepil' is all right, however," said Bellew,
glancing at his visitors with what may be called a grave smile; "it
might have bin worse, for that's an ugly corner under the cliff, an'
needs careful drivin' even in daylight."
"I've not come off quite scatheless, however," said Redding, rubbing the
top of his head tenderly, "for here is a bump that would perplex the
whole college of phrenologists."
"Skin broke, sir?" asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part. "No,
all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a
phrenologist now, I'd name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir;
sit down, Le Rue, an' look after my kettle while I see to your nag."
So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently
welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.
Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic. He
was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly humorous
disposition. No one knew where he came from, or why he had taken up his
abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough fellows who hang on the
outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they said, to "pump" him on
these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or a deep one, for pumping
brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood by shooting, fishing,
trapping wild animals for their skins, and, sometimes, by doing what he
called "odd jobs" in the settlements.
"Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it," said
Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading
on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.
"That seems to be the idea of most men who come here," replied the
trapper, "but it's not many that favour me with a visit."
"Ha! vraiment, dat must be true," interposed the Canadian, "for no body
vill com' here 'xcept them as do want hims legs broke."
"Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came to
this location," said Jonas, "but such accidents occur chiefly among the
Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set."
"Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh," retorted Le
Rue.
"Perhaps you're right, an' mayhap you're wrong, lad, anyway here is
supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an'
go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I've not found time yet to
make chairs, but it's wonderful how well a man gets along without such
luxuries."
"Especially when a man sits down to a venison-steak like this," said the
fur-trader, taking the offered seat, while his man sat down on a block
of wood set on end, and prepared to prove the truth of the trapper's
assertion in regard to French capacity for food.
"'Taint venison," said Bellew, assisting his companions to the meat in
question, "it's bear."
"Indeed? and not bad food for a hungry man," returned Redding, as he
began supper. "Where got you him?"
"Down near Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods are setting up their
saw-mill."
"The McLeods!" exclaimed Redding, looking up suddenly, "have you seen
the McLeods?"
"Ay, I've bin helpin' them a bit wi' the mill. Goin' down again
to-morrow. If this weather holds, the ice must give way soon, and then
we'll be able to push ahead faster."
The trapper said this quietly, and without looking up from the
bear-steak with which he was busy, so that Redding's look of surprise
appeared to be lost on him. The fur-trader and his man exchanged
glances.
For a few minutes the process of mastication completely engrossed the
trio, but the thoughts of the fur-trader were busy, for he was
disappointed to find that one whom he respected so much as Jonas Bellew
should thus coolly state that he was aiding the interlopers.