An unexpected meeting, and an unexpected deer-hunt—Arrival at the outpost—Disagreement with the natives—An enemy discovered, and a murder.
Next morning they rose with the sun, and therefore also with the birds and beasts.
A wide traverse of the lake now lay before them. This they crossed in about two hours, during which time they paddled unremittingly, as the sky looked rather lowering, and they were well aware of the danger of being caught in a storm in such an egg-shell craft as an Indian canoe.
“We’ll put in here now, Mister Harry,” exclaimed Jacques, as the canoe entered the mouth of one of those small rivulets which are called in Scotland burns, and in America creeks; “it’s like that your appetite is sharpened after a spell like that. Keep her head a little more to the left—straight for the p’int—so. It’s likely we’ll get some fish here if we set the net.”
“I say, Jacques, is yon a cloud or a wreath of smoke above the trees in the creek?” inquired Harry, pointing with his paddle towards the object referred to.
“It’s smoke, master; I’ve see’d it for some time, and mayhap we’ll find some Injins there who can give us news of the traders at Stoney Creek.”
“And, pray, how far do you think we may now be from that place?” inquired Harry.
“Forty miles, more or less.”
As he spoke, the canoe entered the shallow water of the creek, and began to ascend the current of the stream, which at its mouth was so sluggish as to be scarcely perceptible to the eye. Not so, however, to the arms. The light bark, which, while floating on the lake, had glided buoyantly forward as if it were itself consenting to the motion, had now become apparently imbued with a spirit of contradiction, bounding convulsively forward at each stroke of the paddles, and perceptibly losing speed at each interval. Directing their course towards a flat rock on the left bank of the stream, they ran the prow out of the water and leaped ashore. As they did so, the unexpected figure of a man issued from the bushes and sauntered towards the spot. Harry and Hamilton advanced to meet him, while Jacques remained to unload the canoe. The stranger was habited in the usual dress of a hunter, and carried a fowling-piece over his right shoulder. In general appearance he looked like an Indian; but though the face was burned by exposure to a hue that nearly equalled the red skins of the natives, a strong dash of pink in it, and the mass of fair hair which encircled it, proved that, as Harry paradoxically expressed it, its owner was a white man. He was young, considerably above the middle height, and apparently athletic. His address and language on approaching the young men put the question of his being a white man beyond a doubt.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he began. “I presume that you are the party we have been expecting for some time past to reinforce our staff at Stoney Creek. Is it not so?”
To this query young Somerville, who stood in advance of his friend, made no reply, but stepping hastily forward, laid a hand on each of the stranger’s shoulders, and gazed earnestly into his face, exclaiming as he did so—
“Do my eyes deceive me? Is Charley Kennedy before me—or his ghost?”
“What! eh,” exclaimed the individual thus addressed, returning Harry’s gripe and stare with interest, “is it possible? No—it cannot—Harry Somerville, my old, dear, unexpected friend!”—and pouring out broken sentences, abrupt ejaculations, and incoherent questions, to which neither vouchsafed replies, the two friends gazed at and walked round each other, shook hands, partially embraced, and committed sundry other extravagances, utterly unconscious of, or indifferent to, the fact that Hamilton was gazing at them, open-mouthed, in a species of stupor, and that Jacques was standing by, regarding them with a look of mingled amusement and satisfaction. The discovery of this latter personage was a source of renewed delight and astonishment to Charley, who was so much upset by the commotion of his spirits, in consequence of this, so to speak, double shot, that he became rambling and incoherent in his speech during the remainder of that day, and gave vent to frequent and sudden bursts of smothered enthusiasm, in which it would appear, from the occasional muttering of the names of Redfeather and Jacques, that he not only felicitated himself on his own good fortune, but also anticipated renewed pleasure in witnessing the joyful meeting of these two worthies ere long. In fact, this meeting did take place on the following day, when Redfeather, returning from a successful hunt, with part of a deer on his shoulders, entered Charley’s tent, in which the travellers had spent the previous day and night, and discovered the guide gravely discussing a venison steak before the fire.
It would be vain to attempt a description of all that the reunited friends said and did during the first twenty-four hours after their meeting: how they talked of old times, as they lay extended round the fire inside of Charley’s tent, and recounted their adventures by flood and field since they last met; how they sometimes diverged into questions of speculative philosophy (as conversations will often diverge, whether we wish it or not), and broke short off to make sudden inquiries after old friends; how this naturally led them to talk of new friends and new scenes, until they began to forecast their eyes a little into the future; and how, on feeling that this was an uncongenial theme under present circumstances, they reverted again to the past, and by a peculiar train of conversation—to retrace which were utterly impossible—they invariably arrived at old times again. Having in course of the evening pretty well exhausted their powers, both mental and physical, they went to sleep on it, and resumed the colloquial mélange in the morning.
“And now tell me, Charley, what you are doing in this uninhabited part of the world, so far from Stoney Creek,” said Harry Somerville, as they assembled round the fire to breakfast.
“That is soon explained,” replied Charley. “My good friend and superior, Mr Whyte, having got himself comfortably housed at Stoney Creek, thought it advisable to establish a sort of half outpost, half fishing-station, about twenty miles below the new fort, and believing (very justly) that my talents lay a good deal in the way of fishing and shooting, sent me to superintend it during the summer months. I am, therefore, at present monarch of that notable establishment, which is not yet dignified with a name. Hearing that there were plenty of deer about twenty miles below my palace, I resolved the other day to gratify my love of sport, and at the same time procure some venison for Stoney Creek; accordingly, I took Redfeather with me, and—here I am.”
“Very good,” said Harry; “and can you give us the least idea of what they are going to do with my friend Hamilton and me when they get us?”
“Can’t say. One of you, at any rate, will be kept at the creek, to assist Mr Whyte; the other may, perhaps, be appointed to relieve me at the fishing for a time, while I am sent off to push the trade in other quarters. But I’m only guessing. I don’t know anything definitely, for Mr Whyte is by no means communicative.”
“An’ please, master,” put in Jacques, “when do you mean to let us off from this place? I guess the bourgeois won’t be over pleased if we waste time here.”
“We’ll start this forenoon, Jacques. I and Redfeather shall go along with you, as I intended to take a run up to the creek about this time at any rate.—Have you the skins and dried meat packed, Redfeather?”
To this the Indian replied in the affirmative, and the others having finished breakfast, the whole party rose to prepare for departure, and set about loading their canoes forthwith. An hour later they were again cleaving the waters of the lake, with this difference in arrangement, that Jacques was transferred to Redfeather’s canoe, while Charley Kennedy took his place in the stern of that occupied by Harry and Hamilton.
The establishment of which our friend Charley pronounced himself absolute monarch, and at which they arrived in the course of the same afternoon, consisted of two small log houses or huts, constructed in the rudest fashion, and without any attempt whatever at architectural embellishment. It was pleasantly situated on a small bay, whose northern extremity was sheltered from the arctic blast by a gentle rising ground clothed with wood. A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men in a canoe completed the picture. The said two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population.
“Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley,” remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station.
“Very,” was the laconic reply.
They had scarcely passed the place above a mile, when a canoe, containing a solitary Indian, was observed to shoot out from the shore and paddle hastily towards them. From this man they learned that a herd of deer was passing down towards the lake, and would be on its banks in a few minutes. He had been waiting their arrival when the canoes came in sight, and induced him to hurry out so as to give them warning. Having no time to lose, the whole party now paddled swiftly for the shore, and reached it just a few minutes before the branching antlers of the deer came in sight above the low bushes that skirted the wood. Harry Somerville embarked in the bow of the strange Indian’s canoe, so as to lighten the other, and enable all parties to have a fair chance. After snuffing the breeze for a few seconds, the foremost animal took the water, and commenced swimming towards the opposite shore of the lake, which at this particular spot was narrow. It was followed by seven others. After sufficient time was permitted to elapse to render their being cut off, in an attempt to return, quite certain, the three canoes darted from the shelter of the overhanging bushes, and sprang lightly over the water in pursuit.
“Don’t hurry, and strike sure,” cried Jacques to his young friends, as they came up with the terrified deer that now swam for their lives.
“Ay, ay,” was the reply.
In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian’s spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal’s back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head sank slowly, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, dispatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives.
“Ha!” exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, “that’s a good stock o’ meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well.”
“It was much wanted, Jacques: we’ve a good many mouths to feed, besides treating the Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of the hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him.”
“True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the redskin by rights, that’s sartin.”
After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek.
“Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said Mr Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; “I’ve been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you’ve come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have dispatches, of course. Ah! that’s right,” (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), “that’s right. I must peruse these at once.—Mr Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half an hour.” So saying, Mr Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence—not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc.
“Now it strikes me,” remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley’s bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner—“it strikes me that if that’s his usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn’t anticipate.”
“Don’t judge from first impressions; they’re often deceptive,” spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds—an act which afterwards cost him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears.
“Right,” exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.—“You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He’s a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he’ll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience.”
“Which means to say three things,” replied the implacable Harry: “first, that for all his good-heartedness at botto............