"Ha! I was sure ob dat," cried Gibault; "your face look like as if you
be full ob starvation."
"An' _wot_ did ye eat last?" inquired Bounce, laying down his pipe and
looking at their guest with much interest not unmingled with pity.
"I breakfasted on a little bird about the size of a hen's egg. I know
not what it is named, but it was excellently flavoured. I relished it
much."
On hearing this, Gibault pressed his hand on his stomach, as if the mere
thought of such a delicately minute breakfast caused him pain in that
region.
"I say, stranger," broke in Waller, in a tone of voice that seemed to
imply that he was determined to be at the bottom of this mystery, and
would stand it no longer--"wot's your name?"
"Theodore Bertram," replied the artist without hesitation.
"Where do you come from?"
"From England."
"Where air you a-goin' to?"
"To the Rocky Mountains."
"Wot for to do there?"
"You are inquisitive, friend," said Bertram, smiling; "but I have no
reason for concealing my object in travelling here--it is to sketch, and
shoot, and take notes, and witness the works of the Almighty in the
wilderness. I hold it to be an object worthy the ambition of a great
man to act the part of pioneer to the missionary and the merchant in
nature's wildest and most inaccessible regions; and although I pretend
not to greatness, I endeavour, humbly, to do what I can."
"No one can do more than that," said Redhand, regarding the young
enthusiast with interest. "But surely you have not travelled to this
out-o'-the-way place without a guide?"
Bertram pointed to the stars.
"These are my guides," said he; "the man who can read the heavens needs
no guide."
"But that book ain't always readable," said Redhand; "when clouds are
flying what do you do then?"
"Fur-traders in the far north have taught me how to ascertain the north
by the bark on the trees; besides this I have a bosom friend who always
points the way." So saying he pulled a small compass from an inner
pocket and held it up.
"Good," rejoined Redhand; "but a compass is not food, neither will it
kill game. Have you nought but them pistols?"
"I have none other arms now but these, save this good sword. They will
serve to defend me in the hour of need, I trust; though now that I have
seen the grisly bear I should doubt my chance of success were I to cope
with him alone. I should imagine that monster to be worse even than the
Wild Man of the West himself."
"The Wild Man o' the West!" echoed March Marston eagerly; "have you seen
_him_?"
"Nay, verily; but I have heard of him," replied the artist, smiling,
"and a strangely ferocious creature he must be, if all that's said of
him be correct. But, to say truth, I believe the stories told of him
are idle tales. Indeed, I do not believe there is such a man at all!"
March Marston's countenance fell. No Wild Man of the West at all! The
bare possibility of such a crushing blow to all his romantic hopes and
dreams caused his heart to sink. Bertram observed the change in his
countenance, and, quickly divining the cause, added, "But I am of a
sceptical turn of mind, and do not easily believe unless I see. There
is one thing I have observed, however, which is in favour of his
existence."
"What's that?" inquired March, brightening up. "That the nearer one
comes to his reputed dwelling-place, this wild man assumes smaller and
more natural proportions. I first heard of him in the Red River
Prairies, where he is held to be a giant who devours men as well as
brutes. As I came nearer to the Missouri, I found that the people there
do not believe him to be either a cannibal or a giant, but assert that
he is an enormously tall and powerful man, exceedingly fierce, and the
sworn enemy of the whole human race; a species of Cain, whose hand is
against every man, and every man's hand against him. The last white man
I met--about two weeks ago--told me he had been with a tribe of Indians,
some of whom had seen him, and they said that he was indeed awfully
wild, but that he was not cruel--on the contrary, he had been known to
have performed one or two kind deeds to some who had fallen into his
power."
"Most extonishin'!" exclaimed Gibault, who sat open-mouthed and
open-eyed listening to this account of the Wild Man of the West.
For some time the party round the camp fire sat smoking in silence,
ruminating on what had been said. Then Big Waller broke the silence
with one of his abrupt questions--
"But, I say, stranger, _how_ did you come here?"
Bertram looked up without speaking. Then, settling himself comfortably
in a reclining position, with his back against a tree, he said--
"I will relieve your curiosity. Listen: I am, as I have said, an
Englishman. My father and mother are dead. I have no brothers or
sisters, and but few relations. Possessing, as I do, a small
independence, I am not obliged to work for my living. I have therefore
come to the conclusion that it is my duty to work for my fellow-men. Of
course, I do not mean to deny that every man who works for his living,
works also for his fellow-men. What I mean is, that I hold myself bound
to apply myself to such works as other men have not leisure to
undertake, and the profit of which will go direct to mankind without
constituting my livelihood on its passage. To open up the unknown
wilderness has ever been my ambition. For that purpose I have come to
these wild regions. My enthusiasm on quitting my native land was
unbounded. But--"
Here Bertram paused and gazed dreamily at the glowing embers of the camp
fire with an expression that led the trappers to infer that experience
had somewhat moderated his enthusiasm. After a few minutes he
resumed:--
"I have done wrong to make this venture alone. On reaching Canada I
succeeded, through the kindness of the governor of the Hudson's Bay
Company, in obtaining a passage in one of the company's canoes through
that series of rivers and lakes by which the fur-traders penetrate into
the regions of the far north. Arrived at Red River Settlement, I pushed
forward on horseback over the plains with a small party of horsemen to
the head waters of the Saskatchewan. Here I succeeded in engaging a
party of twelve men, composed of half-breeds and Indians, and set out on
a journey of exploration over the prairies towards the Rocky Mountains.
Circumstances led me to modify my plans. We diverged towards the south,
and finally came to within a few days' journey of the region in which we
now are. We were suddenly surprised one night by a war-party of
Blackfoot Indians. My men had grown careless. They neglected to keep
strict watch, and before we were aware that danger threatened us, all
our horses were carried off.
"This was a terrible calamity. My men declared that it was impossible
to advance without horses, and refused to accompany me any farther. I
remonstrated in vain; then, filled with indignation at their cowardice,
I left them and pursued my journey alone. Since then I have seen only
one man, a trapper, who was travelling south to the settlements. He
offered to take me with him, but I declined. I felt that no great or
good work could ever be accomplished by the man who turns back at the
first disaster; so he left me. I have suffered somewhat. I am,
unfortunately, a bad shot, and, although game is everywhere abundant, I
cannot kill it. I have subsisted hitherto on small birds; but my powder
and lead are almost expended. Had I not fallen in with you, I know not
what I should have done."
To this narrative the trappers listened with respectful attention, for,
despite the feelings of pity, almost bordering on contempt, with which
they regarded the stranger's weapons and his knowledge, or rather
ignorance, of woodcraft, they could not help reverencing the
simple-minded enthusiasm in a good cause that had conducted the artist
so deep into a savage land in which he was evidently unfitted, either by
nature or training, to travel.
"But I say, stranger," said Big Waller, "wot _do_ ye mean by openin' up
the country? It ain't a oyster, that ye can open it up with a big knife
I guess."
"There, friend, you are wrong. This country does, indeed, resemble an
oyster; and I hope, by the aid of the mighty levers of knowledge and
enterprise, to open it up. I mean to take notes and sketches, and, if
spared, return to my native land, and publish the result of my
observations. I do not, indeed, expect that the public will buy my
work; but I shall publish a large edition at my own cost, and present
copies to all the influential men in the kingdom."
The trappers opened their eyes wider than ever at this.
"What! Make a book?" cried Redhand.
"Even so."
"Will it have pictures?" eagerly asked March, who regarded the artist
with rapidly increasing veneration.
"Ay, it will be profusely illustrated."
"Wot! pictures o' grisly bears?" inquired Bounce.
"Of course."
"An' men?" cried Big Waller.
"And men also, if I fall in with them."
"Then here's one, I guess," cried the bold Yankee, combing out his
matted locks hastily with his fingers, and sitting up in what he
conceived to be a proper position. "Here you are, sir. I'm your man;
fix me off slick. Only think! Big Waller in a book--a _raal_ book!"
He chuckled immensely at the bright prospect of immortality that had
suddenly opened up to him.
"I have drawn you already, friend," said Bertram.
"Draw'd me already?"
"Ay, there you are," he replied, handing his sketch-book to the trapper,
who gazed at his own portrait with unmitigated satisfaction. Turning
over the leaf, he came unexpectedly on the likeness of Gibault, which,
being a truthful representation, was almost a caricature. Big Waller
burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at this. He rolled over on
his back and yelled with delight. His yell being quite in keeping with
his body, the din was so tremendous that Bounce roared--
"Stop yer noise, ye buffalo!"
But Waller didn't hear him; so March Marston effected the desired object
by stuffing the corner of a blanket into his mouth and smothering his
face in its folds.
Bertram's sketch-book was now examined, and for nearly an hour proved a
source of the most intense interest and amusement to these
unsophisticated trappers. In those days few, very few men of education
had succeeded in penetrating far into the western wilderness; and
although the trappers there knew what books and pictures meant, they had
seen but few of them in the course of their lives, and none of those few
had any reference to the wild country in which their lives were spent.
It may be imagined, then, with what delight and excitement they now, for
the first time, beheld scenes of their own beloved woods and prairies,
as well as their own rough forms, vividly sketched by a master-hand.
One of the most interesting points in the inspection of the sketch-book
was, that old Redhand recognised almost every one of the landscapes as
spots with which he was well acquainted; and as Bertram had sketched
most diligently as he travelled along, Redhand told him that by the aid
of that book, without compass or anything else, he could trace his route
backward, step by step, to the Saskatchewan river. Moreover, he
described to the artist accurately many scenes which were near to those
he had sketched, and gradually fell to talking about adventures and
rencontres he had had in many of them, so that at last it became evident
there would be no proposal to go to rest that night at all unless some
wise one of the party should remind the others that another day's toil
lay before them in the course of a few hours.
At length they took up their pipes, which had been forgotten in the
excitement, and refilled them with the intention of having a last quiet
whiff before lying down.
"Ho!" exclaimed Redhand, who still continued to turn over the pages of
the book, "here's a face I know. Where saw ye that Indian?"
"I cannot easily tell where it was we met him; but I remember well that
it was just a day's ride from the spot where our horses were stolen."
"Were there others with him?"
"No, he was alone."
"Ha! at least he said so, I fancy."
"Yes, he did; and I had no reason to doubt him."
"You're not used to the ways o' the redskin, sir," replied Redhand,
looking meditatively at the fire. "Did he chance to mention his name?"
"Oh yes, he called himself Big Snake, at least one of my men translated
it so."