On the Move Again
The procession that set forth for Pembina certainly presented a curious
sight. It might have been intended to represent the triumph of
savagery over civilization.
Decked out in their gayest garb, fully armed, and mounted upon spirited
horses, the Indians pranced about in lordly style, giving orders to the
unfortunate folk from over sea, who, although they were really so much
superior to them, for the time being were completely in their power.
Mr. Macrae had succeeded in making an arrangement with the Indians that
they should carry the young children upon their horses, for, of course,
it would be out of the question for the little ones to walk, and this
gave the riders the chance to have a good deal of amusement at the
expense of the mothers of the children.
No sooner had the strange cavalcade got well under way than the rascals
galloped off ahead, and were presently out of sight on the boundless
prairie, while the bewildered, anxious mothers ran crying and pleading
after them, until they fell exhausted upon the turf.
Ailie Macrae was among those thus carried off, and Hector pursued the
Indian who held her until even his stout legs could not take another
stride, while Dour and Dandy, barking fiercely, continued the chase a
mile or two farther.
But, as he lay panting upon the grass, his first excitement having
passed away, he began to reason the theory out. 'That's just a trick
they're playing on us,' he said to himself. 'They'll bring the bairns
back nae doot, but it's a mean trick, and I'll tell them so.'
And the boy was as good as his word. When the horsemen, having had
their fun, came back to those on foot, with the children unharmed, and
in most cases having greatly enjoyed the wild gallop, Hector made
straight for his new friend, Wikonaie, and with high-pitched voice and
vigorous gesture, made plain to him what he thought of the performance.
Wikonaie smiled at his passionate earnestness, and took no offence at
his fearless scolding. 'You talk big words,' he said, in a tone of
good-humoured admiration. 'You be big chief some day. Me like you.'
This soft answer completely turned away Hector's wrath, and, in spite
of himself, a smile took possession of his flushed features.
'Ha! Ha! Wikonaie,' he cried, 'ye're a canny chiel. Ye ken right
well how to get out of it.'
And so the matter ended between them, but it was a noticeable fact
that, although some of the other Indians repeated the foolish trick,
Wikonaie took no further part in it, and that henceforth it was little
Ailie that rode upon his saddle, and was so happy there that she was
always sorry when she had to dismount.
The procession could make but slow progress. The settlers were no less
heavy of foot than of heart, and both women and men alike had to carry,
up to the limit of their strength, such of their belongings as they
could not possibly part with. Moreover, their English-made boots were
not at all the right thing, and their poor feet swelled out and
blistered inside them, until some could scarcely stand upright.
How they envied the Indians their soft moccasins, and how they vowed to
themselves that they would put off their clumsy, uncomfortable boots
for them at the first opportunity!
So they struggled on over the prairie, the weather, fortunately,
continuing fine and warm, so that they could sleep in the open air at
night without inconvenience. At last footsore, weary, and sad of
heart, they reached their destination.--Pembina, a frontier settlement
of the United States, where they were now to pass the long, cold winter.
Hector was rather sorry when the journey came to an end, tiresome as it
was to his seniors. They went so slowly that he had plenty of time to
roam at his will, and never without the company of Dour and Dandy. He
would make excursions to the right and left of the line of march, and
generally manage to find plenty to amuse and interest him.
'Eh! but ye're grand friends to have!' he would cry to his faithful
four-legged playmates after a wild scamper over the prairie, which set
all three of them panting. 'Ye ken as much as most ordinary folk, and
ye can run faster and farther than the best man that ever lived.
Indeed, I just wish I could run about half as fast myself. It would be
a fine thing to be able to do,' and then he would take their hairy
heads between his hands, and rub his own face fondly between them.
At Pembina, they were well received by the residents, who seemed glad
to have such an addition to their numbers, and, with their aid and
advice, they at once set about getting ready the huts or tents that
would be their only homes for many months to come. With all who could
help lending a hand, these simple habitations did not take long to put
up, and in the course of a few days, each family had their own little
dwelling, such as it was, and the whole party felt in better spirits
than they had done for many a day.
Mr. Macrae's hut was one of the best of the little group. Taking the
Highland cottage as his model, he constructed out of sods, wood, and
canvas, the latter serving for the roof, a really snug affair with a
'butt' and a 'ben,' that gave him much satisfaction, and of which
Hector was immensely proud, as it was the only 'residence' in the camp
having two rooms.
Shelter having thus been secured, the next thing to be taken into
account was the food question. Happily the answer to this lay right
around them. The country was rich in game. From the frisky rabbit to
the lordly buffalo, the prairie or the woods offered the hunter rich
reward for his skill and patience.
To Hector's vast delight, his father bought a gun for him as well as
for himself.
'Ye're a big laddie now,' said Mr. Macrae, his grave features lighting
up with a rare smile of love and pride, as he watched the boy fondling
the firearm as a mother would her baby, 'and it is right you should
learn to use the gun. Be verra careful with it, laddie, and dinna
forget that powder and bullets are very scarce, and maun na be wasted.'
Hector, of course, promised to be as economical as possible of
ammunition, and, having thanked his father over and over again, rushed
off to show his gun to the other boys in the party.
Naturally his first essay as a hunter was against the rabbits, that
were quite plentiful in the clumps of trees which were a feature of the
country. With Dour and Dandy bounding and barking beside him, and a
young half-breed with whom he had picked up an acquaintance as his
companion, he set off very proudly and confidently. Baptiste had
promised to guide him to the best places for the bunnies, and Hector
said confidently to his mother, as, with no small anxiety in her eye
and voice, she was warning him to be careful in handling the gun: 'To
be sure, mither, to be sure; I'll take the best o' care o' myself and
the gun, and, mither, I'll bring ye back as many rabbits as I can
carry.'
It was a boyish boast, for he had yet to shoot his first rabbit; but
Hector had that happy quality, 'a gude conceit of himself,' and it was
a great help to him in life.
Reaching the woods, the dogs, with the fine intelligence of their noble
race, ceased bounding and barking aimlessly, and, with lowered heads,
ran silently hither and thither seeking for game. They were not long
in picking up a brace of bunnies that gave a fine chance for a shot ere
they leaped away out of range.
'Shoot 'em--queek!' cried Baptiste excitedly.
Hector threw the gun to his shoulder with all speed, and pulled the
trigger without stopping to take aim. Naturally the charge of shot
buried itself harmlessly in the side of a tree, and the panic-stricken
rabbits vanished unhurt.
'Bah!' cried Hector, in disgust at his miserable markmanship. 'I did
na touch them! Eh, Baptiste, but they're awfu' smart!'
Baptiste, considerately doing his best to smother a smile, nodded in
assent and muttered something about trying again.
Another chance soon came, but Hector had no better luck, and he began
to realize that shooting the long-eared, long-legged little creatures
was not so easy as he had at first imagined. Having failed for the
third time, he handed the gun, in disgust, to the half-breed, saying:
'Here, Baptiste, you try.'
Baptiste eagerly seized the fire-arm, and the next rabbit that was
started he tumbled over neatly. Another and another was shot in quick
succession, and then, returning the gun with a grateful smile, Baptiste
said: 'Now you shoot.'
Hector's next attempt, happily, was not a miss, and encouraged by this,
he kept on with varying success, until, between him and Baptiste,
nearly a dozen rabbits had been bowled over. Then, satisfied with
their bag, they hastened homeward to proudly exhibit the results of
their day's hunting.
'Weel done, laddie, weel done!' exclaimed Mrs. Macrae, patting Hector
fondly. 'Ye'll be getting us mony a gude dinner, I'm thinking.'