CHAPTER TWELVE.
A NARROW ESCAPE--A STRANGE MEETING, AND A HALF-REVEALED MYSTERY.
One afternoon, not very long after our arrival at Lake Wichikagan,Lumley and I found ourselves on the summit of a rising ground which wasscantily clothed with trees, and from the top of which we could see theregion all round like a map spread at our feet. We were out after ablack bear whose footprints had led us to the spot.
"Bruin has escaped us this time," said Lumley, "and I don't feeldisposed to go after him any further. You see, Max, I must be up earlyto-morrow to superintend Coppet at his water-mill, so I would adviseresting here a bit to refresh ourselves at this spring, and then maketracks for home."
He descended as he spoke towards a small basin in the rocks, into whichfell a rivulet formed by the spring referred to, and flung himself downbeside it. Seating myself at his side I said:--
"Coppet needs superintendence, I suspect, for although he is anexcellent carpenter and reliable workman, I'm not sure that heunderstands complicated or large works--except, indeed, the building ofhouses; but then he has been taught that since he was a boy."
"That's just it, Max," returned Lumley, filling the hollow of his handwith clear water for want of a better drinking-cup, "he can do anythingwhich he has been taught, but I find that he cannot originate, andsuspect that he has not a very deep knowledge of the strength ofmaterials or the power of forces. The worst of it is that neither younor I are very profound in such matters. However, we must do our bestand make everything ten times stronger than there is any occasion for,and thus make up for the lack of engineering knowledge."
"Shall you want my help to-morrow earlier than usual?" I asked.
"No--not till after breakfast."
"Well then, as there is no necessity for my going to bed before myordinary time, I'll let you return alone, for I don't feel at alldisposed to give up this bear after tracking him so many hours. He'sonly a small one, to judge from his footprints, and I am a pretty sureshot, you know."
"Be it so, Max--but don't be late, else I'll have to send men to lookfor you!"
Lumley got up and left me--making a straight line for Fort Wichikagan,as we had named our outpost, and leaving me in a dreamy state of mindbeside the spring.
It was a delightful afternoon in that most charming period of theAmerican season which is styled the Indian summer; when mosquitoes,sand-flies, and all other insect-tormentors disappear, and the weatherseems to take a last enjoyable fortnight of sunny repose before breakinginto winter.
I fell into a pleasant reverie. The backwoods of the Great Nor'-westvanished from my mental view, and, with eyes half closed, I indulged inmemories of home and all its sweet associations.
Bethinking me suddenly of my reason for remaining where I was, I sprangup, seized my gun, and began to follow the trail of the bear. Beforedescending from the eminence, however, I took a look round thelandscape, and saw the figure of an Indian woman in the distance,proceeding towards our fort. Although too far-off to be distinguishedby feature, I could clearly perceive the light-blue cotton kerchiefwhich formed part of the dress of Waboose.
At once my interest in the bear vanished, and I began to follow theIndian girl instead. I had not seen her since the evening of ourarrival at the lake, and I felt a strong desire to make furtherinquiries as to the circumstances of her father's life among the Indiansand his unfortunate death.
Waboose had not seen me. By making a wide and rapid detour I got infront of her and sat down on a fallen tree at a spot where she was sureto pass.
As she drew near, I could not fail to observe how graceful her port was,and how different from that of the other girls with whom her lot hadbeen cast.
"Assuredly," muttered I to myself, "her father was a gentleman!"
Leaving my gun on the bank on which I had been seated, I advanced tomeet her. She showed a very slight symptom of surprise, and, I thought,of uneasiness, on seeing me, but made no remark until I had spoken. Atfirst I was about to adopt the Indian style of address, and begin with"my red sister," but the phrase, besides being false, appeared to meridiculous; still, the ice had to be broken somehow, so I made abungling plunge.
"Blue-eyes wanders far to-day from the wigwams of her--her--people?"
A gleam of surprise mingled with pleasure rippled over her pretty facewhen she found that I could speak to her in the native tongue.
"Yes," she replied in the same language. "I have wandered far. I wasthe bearer of a message."
As she volunteered no more I continued:
"If Waboose goes to her wigwam, will she object to the pale-face bearingher company?"
With something like a graceful inclination of the head, the Indian girlgave me to understand that she had no objection.
"An _Indian_!" thought I, "she's a _lady_ in disguise, as sure as I am afur-trader!"
Of course I was careful not to give her, either by tone or look, theslightest hint of what was passing in my mind, and was about to continuemy remarks, when a rustling in the bushes caused us both to look roundquickly. The foliage parted next moment close to us, and before I hadtime to think a large brown bear bounded into the open space. It seemedto be taken as much by surprise as we were, and I have no doubt wouldhave turned and fled if it had not been so near. It rose on its hindlegs, however, to attack us, and then I perceived that it was not thesmall bear which Lumley and I had been tracking.
The blood rushed to my head when I remembered that the monster stoodbetween me and the bank on which my gun was lying! Then the feelingthat the helpless Indian girl was at its mercy filled me with feelingswhich are indescribable. Thought is swifter than the lightning-flash.Much more than I have written flashed through my brain during those twoor three seconds, but one overmastering idea filled me--I would save_her_, or perish!
I glanced sharply round. To my surprise she had fled! So much thebetter. I could at least keep the creature engaged till she had gotwell away.
Drawing the small hatchet which like all Nor'westers I carried in mybelt, I rushed at the bear and made a cut at its head with all the forcethat lay in my arm. Where the blow fell I know not, but apparently itwas ineffective, for, with a quick vicious turn of its paw, the bearstruck my weapon from my hand with such violence that it flew over thetree-tops as if shot from a catapult, and I stood unarmed--helpless--atthe creature's mercy!
The terrible feeling that death was so near almost unnerved me, but thethought of Waboose caused me to utter a roar of mingled rage and despairas I doubled my fist and launched it full against the monster's nose!
At that moment a loud report at my ear deafened and almost stunned me.Next instant the bear lay dead at my feet. I looked round and beheldWaboose standing close to me with my gun in her hands!
"Noble heroine!" I exclaimed, but as I exclaimed it in English she didnot understand. She had, indeed, a very slight smattering of thatlanguage--of which more hereafter--but "Noble heroine" was not at thattime in her vocabulary!
Instead of trembling or looking pale, as I might have expected to seeher, Waboose looked at me in the most composed manner, and withsomething on her lip that seemed to me like a smile of amusement. Insome confusion, I thanked her for having saved my life.
She did not object to the thanks, but replied by asking me if it was theusual practice of white men to attack bears with their fists.
I could not help laughing at this.
"No, Waboose," I replied, as I recharged my gun, "it is by no meansusual; but when a man has no other weapon at hand, he is compelled touse his fists. And let me tell you," I added, for I was somewhatnettled by the obvious laugh that nestled in the girl's blue eyes,--"letme tell you that we English are pretty good at using our fists."
"I know that," she replied, becoming suddenly very grave as we walkedon.
"You know that?" I repeated in surprise; "how came you to know that?"
"My dear father was English," she answered in a low sad tone that smoteme to the heart for having f
elt nettled--though I believe I did not showthe feeling on my face or in my tone.
"Ah! Big Otter told me that," said I, in an earnest tone of sympathy."If it does not hurt her feelings too much to recall the past, I shouldlike Waboose to tell me about her father."
The girl looked at me in surprise. I had a fancy, at the time, thatthis was the result of the novel sensation of a man having anyconsideration for her feelings, for Indian braves are not, as a rule,much given to think about the feelings of their women. Indeed, from theway in which many of them behave, it is probable that some red-men thinktheir women have no feelings at all.
In a low, melodious voice, and with some of that poetic imagery whichmarks the language, more or less, of all North American Indians, thegirl began to speak--raising her eyes wistfully the while to the sky, asif she were communing with her own thoughts rather than speaking to me.
"My father was good--oh! _so_ good and kind," she said. "When I wassmall, like the foolish rabbit when it is a baby, he used to take me onhis shoulders and run with me over the prairie like the wild mustang.Sometimes he put me in his bark canoe and skimmed with me over LakeWichikagan till I fancied I was a grey-goose or a swan. Ah! those werehappy days! No one can ever understand how much my father loved me. Mymother loves me much, but she is not like my father. Perhaps it is thenature of the pale-faces to love more deeply than the red-men."
Waboose uttered this last sentence as if she were questioning the sky onthe point. I felt at the time that there was at least one pale-face wholoved her better than all the red-men or women on earth, but a sense ofjustice caused me to repudiate the general idea.
"No, Waboose," said I, firmly, "that is a mistake. Rough surroundingsand a harsh life will indeed modify the heart's affections, but the merecolour of the skin has nothing to do with it. The heart of the redskincan love as deeply as that of the white man--both were made by the sameGreat Master of Life."
The girl cast her eyes meditatively on the ground and murmured simply,"It may be so."
The reader must not suppose that I expressed my meaning in the Indiantongue during this conversation as clearly as I have set it down inEnglish. No doubt I mangled the sentences and confused the ideas sadly,nevertheless Waboose seemed to have no difficulty in understanding me.I had certainly none in comprehending her.
I was about to ask Waboose to relate the circumstances of her father'sdeath while in the act of rescuing her mother, but feeling that it mightcause her needless pain, and that I could get the details as easily fromsome of the Indians, I asked her instead where her father came from.She looked at me sadly as she replied--
"I cannot tell. My dear father had nothing to conceal from me but that.On all other things his heart was open. He spoke to me of all thewonders of this world, and of other places that my people know nothingof, and of the great Master of Life, and of His Son Jesus, who came tosave us from evil, and of the countries where his white brothers live;but when I asked him where he came from, he used to pat my head andsmile, and say that he would perhaps tell me one day, but not just then.I shall never know it now."
"At all events you must know his name, Waboose?"
"His name was Weeum," replied the girl quickly.
"Was that all?"
"All," she replied with a quick look, "was not that enough?"
"Well, perhaps it was," I replied, scarce knowing what to say. "And whydid he give you the name of Waboose?" I asked.
"Because when I was small I was round and soft," replied the girl, witha slight smile, "like the little animal of that name. He told me thatin his own language the animal is called rubbit."
"Rabbit, not rubbit," said I, with a laugh.
"My father taught me rubbit," returned Waboose, with a simple look, "andhe was _always_ right."
I felt that it would be useless to press my correction, and thereforechanged the subject by asking if her father had never tried to teach herEnglish. Immediately she answered, with a somewhat bashful air--
"Yes, a leetil."
"Why, you can _speak_ English, Waboose," I exclaimed, stopping andlooking down at her with increasing interest.
"No--note mush, but me un'erstan' good--deal," she returned, with ahearty laugh at my expression.
I found on trial, however, that the girl's knowledge of English was soslight that we could not readily converse in it. We therefore fell backon the Indian tongue.
"I wish I had known your father, Waboose," I said earnestly. "He musthave been a very good man."
She looked at me gratefully.
"Yes," she returned, "he was _very_ good."
As she said this Waboose cast on me a look which I could not understand;it was so intense, as if she were trying to read my thoughts, and at thesame time seemed mingled with doubt. Then, with some hesitation, shesaid--
"My father left a secret with me. He told me never to show it to mytribe, as they could not understand it--not even to my mother."
"What is the secret, Waboose?" I asked, seeing that she hesitated againand looked at me with another of her searching glances.
"I do not know," she replied.
"It must indeed be a secret, if none of your people know it, and youdon't know it yourself," I returned with a peculiar smile.
"It is a written secret, I believe, but I--I--do not know. He told menever to show it to any but a white man--to one whom I felt that I couldtrust. May I trust _you_?" she asked, looking me full in the face.
The question naturally surprised as well as flattered me.
"You may trust me, Waboose," I said earnestly, laying my handinvoluntarily on my heart, "I would die rather than deceive or injureyou."
She seemed satisfied and resumed in a low tone--
"Not long before my dear father died he took me into the woods to walkin a place that we were both fond of. We had long sweet talks in thatwood; sometimes walking under the trees, sometimes sitting on thehill-tops, and always happy--very happy! One day he looked sad. Hetook my hand as we sat together on a bank. He said, `I have sometimeslonged to open up all my heart to you, my rubbit,' (he was fond ofcalling me by the English name), `but I cannot do so yet.'"
"`Why not, my father?' I asked.
"`Because--because--' he answered, `it could do no good, and it might doharm. No, my rubbit, the time may come, but not now--not yet. Listen;for your mother's sake I left the home of the pale-faces and came tolive with your tribe. For her sake I shall remain. But you know thatlife is uncertain. We cannot tell when the Great Master of Life maycall us away. Sometimes he calls us suddenly and we are forced to leaveour works unfinished. I may be called away thus, before the time comeswhen I may tell you what I want you to know. If so, you will find itall here.'
"My father took from the breast of his coat a small bundle wrapped inbirch-bark and placed it in my hands.
"`Do not open it,' he said. `Do not show it to man or woman in thetribe. They could not understand, but if ever a white man comes here,_whom you feel that you can trust_, show it to him.'
"My father rose as he said this, and as he seemed to wish not to speakmore about it, I did not trouble him, but I went and hid the parcel withcare. It was almost immediately afterwards that my dear father wastaken from me."
We were suddenly interrupted at this point by the appearance of a man inthe distance walking smartly towards us. I could perceive, as he drewnear, that it was James Dougall.
"Well, well, Muster Maxby," he said on coming up, "it's gled I am tofind you. I've been seekin' you far an' near."
"Nothing wrong, I hope, Dougall," said I with some anxiety, on observingthat the man was perspiring and panting vehemently.
"No, no, nothin' wrong, Muster Maxby, only it's runnin' aboot the wudsI've been, lookin' for ye an' skirlin' like a pair o' pipes. We'reaboot to draw the seine-net, ye see, an' Tonald Pane said it would be apeety, says he, to begin when ye wur awa', an' Muster Lumley agreet wi'um, an' sent me oot to seek for 'ee--that's a'."
"Come alo
ng then, Dougall, we won't keep them waiting."
Nodding adieu to Waboose, I hurried away towards Fort Wichikagan,followed by the sturdy Highlander.