"We do mean to try our luck in these parts, but we han't yet made up our
minds exactly where to go. Mayhap you'll give us the benefit of your
advice."
While he was speaking the fur trader glanced with an earnest yet half
stupid stare at the faces of the trappers, as if he wished to impress
their features on his memory.
"Advice," he replied; "you're welcome to all the advice I've got to give
ye; and it's this--go home; go to where you belong to, sell your traps
and rifles and take to the plough, the hatchet, the forehammer--to
anything you like, so long as it keeps you out of this--" Macgregor
paused a moment as if he were about to utter an oath, then dropped his
voice and said, "This wretched Indian country."
"I guess, then, that we won't take yer advice, old man," said Big Waller
with a laugh.
"`Old man?'" echoed Macgregor with a start.
"Wall, if ye bean't old, ye ain't exactly a chicken."
"You're a plain-spoken man," replied the trader, biting his lips.
"I always wos," retorted Waller.
Macgregor frowned for a moment, then he broke into a forced laugh, and
said--
"Well, friends, you'll please yourselves, of course--most people do; and
if you are so determined to stick to the wilderness I would advise some
of you to stop here. There's plenty of fun and fighting, if you're fond
of that. What say you now, lad," turning to March, "to remain with us
here at the Mountain Fort? I've ta'en a sort of fancy to your face. We
want young bloods here. I'll give you a good wage and plenty to do."
"Thanks; you are kind," replied March, smiling, "but I love freedom too
well to part with it yet awhile."
"Mais, monsieur," cried Gibault, pushing forward, pulling off his cap,
and making a low bow; "if you vants yonger blod, an' also ver' goot
blod, here am von!"
The trader laughed, and was about to reply, when a sudden burst of
laughter and the sound of noisy voices in the yard interrupted him.
Presently two of the men belonging to the establishment cantered out of
the square, followed by all the men, women, and children of the place,
amounting probably to between twenty and thirty souls. "A race! a
race!" shouted the foremost.
"Hallo! Dupont, what's to do?" inquired McLeod as the two horsemen came
up.
"Please, monsieur, Lincoln have bet me von gun dat hims horse go more
queek dan mine--so we try."
"Yes, so we shall, I guess," added the man named Lincoln, whose speech
told that he was a Yankee.
"Go it, stranger; I calc'late you'll do him slick," cried Waller
patronisingly, for his heart warmed towards his countryman.
"Ah! non. Go home; put your horse to bed," cried Gibault, glancing at
the Yankee's steed in contempt. "Dis is de von as vill do it more
slicker by far."
"Well, well; clear the course; we shall soon see," cried McLeod. "Now
then--here's the word--one, two--away!"
At the last word the riders' whips cracked, and the horses sprang
forward at a furious gallop. Both of them were good spirited animals,
and during the first part of the race it could not be said that either
had the advantage. They ran neck and neck together.
The racecourse at the Mountain Fort was a beautiful stretch of level
turf, which extended a considerable distance in front of the gates. It
crossed a clear open country towards the forest, where it terminated,
and, sweeping round in an abrupt curve, formed, as it were, a loop; so
that competitors, after passing over the course, swept round the loop,
and, re-entering the original course again, came back towards the fort,
where a long pole formed the winning-post.
Dupont and Lincoln kept together, as we have said, for some time after
starting, but before they had cleared the first half of the course the
former was considerably in advance of the latter, much to the delight of
most of the excited spectators, with whom he was a favourite. On
gaining the loop above referred to, and making the graceful sweep round
it, which brought the foremost rider into full side view, the distance
between them became more apparent, and a cheer arose from the people
near the fort gate.
At that moment a puff of smoke issued from the bushes. Dupont tossed
his arms in the air, uttered a sharp cry, and fell headlong to the
ground. At the same instant a band of Indians sprang from the underwood
with an exulting yell. Lincoln succeeded in checking and turning his
horse before they caught his bridle, but an arrow pierced his shoulder
ere he had galloped out of reach of his enemies.
The instant Dupont fell, a savage leaped upon him, and plunged his knife
into his heart. Then, passing the sharp weapon quickly round his head
with his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leaping
up, shook the bloody trophy defiantly at the horrified spectators.
All this was accomplished so quickly that the horror-stricken people of
the Mountain Fort had not time to move a finger to save their comrade.
But, as the savage raised the scalp of poor Dupont above his head,
Redhand's rifle flew to his shoulder, and in another moment the Indian
fell to the earth beside his victim. Seeing this, the other Indians
darted into the forest.
Then a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Macgregor, as, with a
face convulsed with passion, he rushed into the fort, shouting: "To
horse! to horse, men! and see that your horns and pouches are full of
powder and ball!"
The commotion and hubbub that now took place baffle all description.
The men shouted and raved as they ran hither and thither, arming
themselves and saddling their horses; while the shrieks of poor Dupont's
widow mingled with those of the other women and the cries of the
terrified children.
"Half a dozen of you must keep the fort," said McLeod, when they were
all assembled; "the others will be sufficient to punish these fiends.
You'll help us, I suppose?"
This latter question was addressed to Redhand, who, with his comrades,
stood armed, and ready to mount.
"Ready, sir," answered the trapper promptly.
McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart forms
of his guests, as they stood each at his horse's head examining the
state of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of his
costume.
"Mount! mount!" shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through the
gateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.
"Stay!--my sketch-book!" cried Bertram in an agony, at the same time
dropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of the
fort.
"Git on, lads; I'll look arter him," said Bounce with a grin, catching
up the bridle of the artist's horse.
Without a moment's hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, and
galloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had already
wellnigh gained the edge of the forest.
In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with the
sketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other.
In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked them
up, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.
"Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye'll be fit for nothin',"
said Bounce almost sternly.
Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in his
hand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were left
behind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gate
of the Mountain Fort, the two horsemen were flying at full speed over
the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before
them.