CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE BUFFALO-HUNT.
In accordance with the assurance given to Okematan Antoine Dechamp atonce gave orders to make preparation for an immediate start after thebuffalo--much to the satisfaction of the hunters, especially the youngones.
Buffaloes--or, to speak more correctly, bisons--roamed over the NorthAmerican prairies at the time we write of in countless thousands; forthe Indians, although extremely wasteful of animal life, could not keeptheir numbers down, and the aggressive white-man, with his deadly gunand rifle, had only just begun to depopulate the plains. Therefore thehunters had not to travel far before coming up with their quarry.
In a very brief space of time they were all drawn up in line undercommand of their chosen leader, who, at least up to the moment of givingthe signal for attack, kept his men in reasonably good order. They hadnot ridden long when the huge ungainly bisons were seen like blackspecks on the horizon.
Still the horsemen--each armed with the muzzle-loading,single-barrelled, flint-lock gun of the period--advanced cautiously,until so near that the animals began to look up as if in surprise at theunwonted intrusion on their great solitudes.
Then the signal was given, the horses stretched out at the gallop, thebuffalo began to run--at first heavily, as if great speed wereimpossible to them; but gradually the pace increased until it attainedto racing speed. Then the hunters gave the rein to their eager steeds,and the long line rushed upon the game like a tornado of centaurs.
From this point all discipline was at an end. Each man fought for hisown hand, killing as many animals as he could, so that ere long theplain was strewn with carcases, and the air filled with gunpowder smoke.
We have said that all the hunters set out, but this is not strictlycorrect, for three were left behind. One of these had fallen sick; onehad sprained his wrist, and another was lazy. It need scarcely be toldthat the lazy one was Francois La Certe.
"There is no hurry," he said, when the hunters were assembling for thestart; "plenty of time. My horse has not yet recovered from thefatigues of the journey. And who knows but the report of the buffalobeing so near may be false? I will wait and see the result. To-morrowwill be time enough to begin. Then, Slowfoot, you will see what I cando. Your hands shall be busy. We will load our cart with meat andpemmican, pay off all our debts, and spend a happy winter in Red River.What have you got there in the kettle?"
"Pork," answered Slowfoot with characteristic brevity.
"Will it soon be ready?"
"Soon."
"Have you got the tea unpacked?"
"Yes."
"Send me your pipe."
This latter speech was more in the tone of a request than a command, andthe implied messenger from the opposite side of the fire was the baby--Baby La Certe. We never knew its name, if it had one, and we havereason to believe that it was a female baby. At the time, baby wasquite able to walk--at least to waddle or toddle.
A brief order from the maternal lips sent Baby La Certe toddling roundthe fire towards its father, pipe in hand; but, short though the roadwas, it had time to pause and consider. Evidently the idea of justicewas strongly developed in that child. Fair wage for fair work hadclearly got hold of it, for it put the pipe which was still alight, inits mouth and began to draw!
At this the father smiled benignly, but Slowfoot made a demonstrationwhich induced a rather prompt completion of the walk without areasonable wage. It sucked vigorously all the time, however, beingevidently well aware that Francois was not to be feared.
At that moment the curtain of the tent lifted, and little Bill Sinclairlimped in. He was a favourite with La Certe, who made room for him, andat once offered him the pipe, but Billie declined.
"No, thank you, La Certe. I have not learned to smoke yet."
"Ha! you did not begin young enough," said the half-breed, glancingproudly at his own offspring.
We may explain here once for all that, although he had lived long enoughin the colony to understand French, Billie spoke to his friend inEnglish, and that, although La Certe understood English, he preferred tospeak in French.
"What have you been doing?" he asked, when the boy had seated himself.
"I've been shooting at a mark with my bow and arrow--brother Archie madeit for me."
"Let me see--yes, it is very well made. Where is brother Archie?"
"Gone after the buffalo."
"What!--on a horse?"
"He could not go very well after them on foot--could he?" replied theboy quietly. "Dan Davidson lent him a horse, but not a gun. He saidthat Archie was too young to use a gun on horseback, and that he mightshoot some of the people instead of the buffalo, or burst his gun, orfall off. But _I_ don't think so. Archie can do anything. I know, forI've seen him do it."
"And so he has left you in camp all by yourself. What a shame, Billie!"
"No, Francois, it is not a shame. Would you have me keep him from thefun just because I can't go? _That_ would indeed be a shame, wouldn'tit?"
"Well, perhaps you're right, Billie."
"I know I'm right," returned the boy, with a decision of tone that wouldhave been offensive if it had not been accompanied with a look ofstraightforward gentleness that disarmed resentment. "But, I say,Francois, why are you not out with the rest?"
"Oh, because--because--Well, you know, my horse is tired, and--and, I'mnot quite sure that the buffalo really have been seen as near as theysay. And I can go to-morrow just as well. You see, Billie, there is noneed to hurry oneself."
"No, I don't see that. I think there's always need for hurry, speciallywith men like you. I know the reason you don't go out better thanyourself, Francois."
"Yes--what is it?" asked the half-breed with a slight laugh.
"It's laziness. That's what it is, and you should be ashamed ofyourself."
The large mild eyes and low voice, and pale earnest face of theplain-spoken invalid were such that it would have been impossible forany one to be offended with him, much less La Certe, whose spirit ofindignation it was almost impossible to arouse. He winced a little atthe home-thrust, however, because he knew it to be true.
"You're hard on me, Little Bill," he said with a benignant look, as hepicked a stick from the fire and inserted its glowing end in his pipe.
"No, I'm not hard," returned the boy gravely. Indeed he was alwaysgrave, and seldom laughed though he sometimes smiled faintly at thejokes and quips of his volatile brother and Fred Jenkins the seaman:"I'm not half hard enough," he continued; "I like you, Francois, andthat's the reason why I scold you and try to get you to mend. I don'tthink there's such a lazy man in the whole Settlement as you. You wouldrather sit and smoke and stuff yourself with pork all day than take thetrouble to saddle your horse and get your gun and go out with the rest.Why are you so lazy, Francois?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Little Bill, unless it be that I'm born to belazy. Other people are born, I suppose, to be active and energetic.They like activity and energy, and so they do it. I like repose andquiet, and--so I do that. Not much difference after all! We both dowhat we like best!"
Little Bill was perplexed. Although philosophical in tendency he hadnot had sufficient experience in sophistical reasoning to enable him todisentangle the sinuosities of bad logic. But he was a resolute littlefellow, and not easily quelled.
"What would happen," he asked, "if everybody in the world did as youdo?"
"Well, I suppose everybody would enjoy themselves. There would be nomore fightings or wars, or any trouble of that sort, if everybody wouldonly take things easy and smoke the pipe of peace."
"Hm! I don't know about that," returned the boy, doubtfully; "but I'mquite sure there would not be much pemmican in Red River this winter ifall the hunters were like you. I wonder you're not ashamed, Francois.Sometimes I think that you're not worth caring about; but I can't helpit, you know--we can't force our likings one way or other."
La Certe was a good deal taken aback. He wa
s not indeed unaccustomed toplain speaking, and to the receipt of gratuitous abuse; but hisexperience invariably was to associate both with more or less of a sternvoice and a frowning brow. To receive both in a soft voice from adelicate meek-faced child, who at the same time professed to like him,was a complete novelty which puzzled him not a little.
After a few minutes' profound consideration, he put out his pipe andarose quickly with something like an appearance of firmness in his lookand bearing.
Slowfoot, whose utter ignorance of both French and English prevented herunderstanding the drift of the recent conversation, was almost startledby the unfamiliar action of her lord.
"Where go you?" she asked.
"To follow the buffalo," answered La Certe, with all the dignity of aman bursting with good resolutions.
"Are you ill?" asked his wife, anxiously.
To this he vouchsafed no reply, as he raised the curtain and went out.
Little Bill also went out, and, sitting down on a package, watched himwith his large solemn eyes, but said never a word until the half-breedhad loaded his gun and mounted his horse. Then he said: "Good luck toyou, Francois!"
La Certe did not speak, but with a grave nod of his head rode slowly outof the camp. Little Bill regarded him for a moment. He had his bow anda blunt-headed arrow in his hand at the time. Fitting the latterhastily to the bow he took a rapid shot at the retreating horseman. Thearrow sped well. It descended on the flank of the horse withconsiderable force, and, bounding off, fell to the ground. The resultwas that the horse, to La Certe's unutterable surprise, made a suddendemivolt into the air--without the usual persuasion--almost unseated itsrider, and fled over the prairie like a thing possessed!
A faint smile ruffled the solemnity of Little Bill at this, but itvanished when he heard a low chuckle behind him. Wheeling round, hestood face to face with Slowfoot, whose mouth was expanded from ear toear.
"Clever boy!" she said, patting him on the back, "come into the tent andhave some grub."
She said this in the Cree language, which the boy did not understand,but he understood well enough the signs with which the invitation wasaccompanied. Thanking her with an eloquent look, he re-entered the tentalong with her.