CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
A NEW DISASTER.
"I mean to go off to-morrow on a shooting trip to the lake," said DanDavidson to Archie Sinclair. "I've had a long spell at farmingoperations of late, and am tired of it. The double wedding, you know,comes off in six weeks. So I want to have one more run in thewilderness in all the freedom of bachelorhood. Will you go with me?"
"`Unpossible,' as Jenkins would say," answered Archie. "Nothing wouldplease me better, but, duty before pleasure! I've promised to spend aweek along wi' Little Bill at the Whitehorse Plains. Billie has taken agreat fancy to that chief o' the half-breeds, Cuthbert Grant, and we aregoin' to visit him. I've no doubt that Little Bill would let me off,but I won't be let off."
"Then I must ask Okematan to go with me," said Dan.
"You needn't trouble yourself, for I heard him say that he was goin' offto see some o' his relations on important business--a great palaver o'some sort--and Elise told me this morning that she saw him startyesterday."
"Morel is too busy with his new farm to go," rejoined Dan, "and Jenkinsis too busy helping Morel. Perhaps Dechamp or Bourassin may be more atleisure. I will go see."
But on search being made, neither Dechamp nor Bourassin was to be found,and our hero was returning home with the intention of taking a smallhunting canoe and going off by himself, when he chanced to meet with LaCerte.
That worthy seemed unusually depressed, and returned Dan's greeting withvery little of his habitual cheerfulness.
"What's wrong with you, Francois?" asked Dan, anxiously.
"Domestic infelicity," answered La Certe, with a sorrowful shake of thehead.
"What! surely Slowfoot has not taken to being unkind to you?"
"O no! Slowfoot could not be unkind, but she is unhappy; she has losther cheerful looks; she does not take everything as she once did; shedoes not now let everything go anyhow with that cheerful resignationwhich was once her delightful characteristic. She no longer hands thepipe of peace to our little one--indeed she refuses to let it have thepipe at all, though the poor child cries for it, and comes to mesecretly, when Slowfoot is out of the way, to beg for a draw. Then, shescolds me--no, she does not scold. Slowfoot cannot scold. She is tooamiable--but she remonstrates, and that is worse than scolding, for itenlists myself against myself. O! I am now miserable. My days ofpeace are gone!"
"This is all very sad, La Certe," said Dan, in a tone of sympathy."What does she remonstrate about?"
"About my laziness! She does it very kindly, very gently--so like herold self!--but she _does_ it. She says, `Husband; we have gone on thisway too long. We must change. _You_ must change. You are lazy!'"
"Well, La Certe," said Dan, "I'm afraid that Slowfoot is right."
"I know she is right!" retorted the half-breed, with more ofexasperation in his manner than his friend had ever before seen in him."When that which is said of one is false, one can afford to smile, butwhen it is true what can one say? Yet it is hard--very hard. _You_ arefull of energy; you love to expend it, and you search for work. It isnatural--and what is natural _must_ be right. So, I am full oflaziness. I love to indulge it, and I search for repose. That is alsonatural, and what is natural _must_ be right. Voila!"
"Then I suppose your love for repose," returned Dan, "will oblige you todecline an offer which I thought of making to you."
"What is that?"
"To go with me on a shooting expedition to Lake Winnipeg for a week ortwo."
"O no! I will not decline that," returned La Certe, brightening up."Shooting is not labour. It is amusement, with labour sufficient tomake after-repose delightful. And I will be glad to leave my home for atime, for it is no longer the abode of felicity."
This having been satisfactorily arranged, preparations made, andSlowfoot advised of her husband's intention, Dan went to Ben Nevis Hallnext morning to bid farewell to Elspie for a brief period. He foundonly old McKay in the Hall, Elspie having gone up the Settlement, ordown the Settlement--the man did not know which--to call on a friend.
"See that ye will not be long o' comin' back, Tan," he said. "Therewill be a good many arranchments to make, you see."
"I hope to be back in three weeks at latest," said Dan, "if all goeswell."
"Ay, if all goes well," repeated the old man, thoughtfully. "As Elspiesays sometimes, `We never know what a day may bring furth.' Well, well,see that you will not be upsetting your canoe, for canoes are crankythings--whatever."
In a short time our hero and La Certe found themselves floating oncemore on the calm breast of the mighty inland sea.
It was afternoon. The circumstances were eminently conducive to thefelicity which is derivable from repose, and thus admirably suited tothe tastes of La Certe. An unruffled sheet of glassy water lay spreadout to the north-western horizon, which not only doubled the canoe andits occupants, but reflected the golden glory of the sun, and mirroredevery fleecy cloudlet in the bright blue sky. A mere dip of the paddlesnow and then served to give impulse to the light, and literal, bark.Genial warmth pervaded the atmosphere, and little white gulls floatedalmost motionless on outspread wings, or sloped hither and thither withlazy flap, while ever and anon the whistling wings of passing wild-fowlgave promise of occupation to their guns, to say nothing of theirkettles.
On their third day out, towards evening, they went ashore on thelee-side of a rocky point where some bushes and trees seemed to offerfirewood and shelter.
"This will do," said Dan, as he stepped lightly out on a shelving rockand held the canoe while his companion took out the lading. "Plenty drysticks and lots of moss for bedding."
"Truly, that is so," returned La Certe. "It is a place in whichSlowfoot would rejoice to repose, and the little one to smoke its pipe."
"You forget," said Dan. "The little one is no longer allowed thatluxury."
"No, I forgot not. But I reflect that it is possible to give her many adraw on the sly."
The fire was soon kindled, ducks were roasting in front of it, and thekettle boiling above it. The tea had been infused, and La Certe, whilefilling his pipe, was blinking good-will at all around, when the notesof a voyageur-song were heard like an echo in the far distance.
Gradually the song grew louder, and soon a canoe rounded the point, andcame in sight of the camp-fire. It was what used to be called anorth-canoe, of the largest size, made of birch-bark, and contained acrew of ten men.
The song and the paddling stopped simultaneously when the camp wasobserved, and the men appeared to hold a consultation. Theirhesitation, however, was very brief. Suddenly, breaking again intosong, they ran the canoe to shore, and landed.
"We are bound for Red River," said their chief to Dan. "Just come fromCanada. We suppose you don't object to our camping beside you. It is aconvenient spot."
Of course the two hunters had no objection whatever to fraternise withthe strangers from Canada, and in a short time another large fire wassending its myriad sparks up into the darkening sky like a giganticroman-candle.
During supper the strangers made themselves very agreeable. Aftersupper, two of the stoutest of them arose, as if to go into the bush formore firewood. Suddenly these threw themselves upon and seized Dan andhis comrade, who were reclining quietly on the ground. Before eithercould make even an attempt at self-defence they were overpowered by theCanadians, and held forcibly down, while their arms were securely boundto their sides with strips of deerskin.
"It is useless to struggle, Dan Davidson," said the chief, when this wasbeing accomplished. "We know you as a bitter opponent of theNor'-westers, and we intend to carry you where your power to do mischiefwill be ended."
"Who are you? and under whose authority do you act?" demanded Dan,angrily.
"Who I am is a matter of no interest to you, Dan. I act under my ownauthority, and I may just as well tell you, at the beginning, that ifyou and your comrade choose to submit peaceably, we will treat youreasonably well;--if not, we will find means t
o quiet you, even thoughwe should be driven to do it wi' that."
The man pointed significantly to a gun which leant against aneighbouring tree. His meaning could not be misunderstood.
That night, Dan and La Certe were fastened to a tree by cords whichallowed of their moving about freely within a small space, but theirarms were not unbound. Here they were allowed to make themselves ascomfortable as possible in the circumstances. Their bed, being mossy,was well enough, but the distracted state of their minds--especiallyDan's--may be imagined.
"La Certe," said Dan, when the camp-fire had burned low, and the starswere shining on them through the leaves, and all was still, save anoccasional snore from the Nor'-westers.
La Certe groaned in reply.
Poor Dan was not in a mood to comfort him or anybody else at thatmoment, and did not follow up his remark.
"La Certe," he said again, after a quarter of an hour.
"Well?"
"Do you remember John Bourke?"
"Yes, yes. I remember him, but I care not for him. My own sorrows aretoo great."
"Do you recollect," continued Dan, regardless of this despairing remark,"that a good while ago the Nor'-westers took him prisoner, when he waswounded after a skirmish with them, and carried him to Canada--treatinghim with great barbarity on the way. There he was put in jail, but, asnothing could be proved against him, he was liberated, and then tried toreturn to his family in Red River, but the Nor'-westers caught himagain, imprisoned him, sent him a second time to Canada, and had himtried at the Court of the King's Bench, although his only crime was thatof resisting the North-West Company. He was acquitted, and, afterterrible sufferings from which he never quite recovered and a threeyears' absence, he rejoined his family in Red River."
"Yes, O yes! I know it all," groaned La Certe.
"Well," continued Dan, bitterly, "his fate is not unlikely to be ours."
The poor half-breed made no reply to this. For some time he lay quitestill, and his comrade had almost fallen into an uneasy slumber, when hewas awakened by La Certe breaking out into a soliloquy in which heapostrophised his absent wife.
"O my Slowfoot!" he murmured. "Shall we never meet again on earth?Yes, you are right. I have been lazy! I _am_ lazy. I suppose thatthis is punishment for my sin. But it is hard to bear, and very heavy--is it not?--for only following one's nature in longing for repose. O!why was I born? Why was our little one born, to enjoy for so brief atime the delights of smoke, and then have it denied her--except on thesly, when with her miserable father, who will never see her more--perhaps."
He paused for a few minutes, and then broke out again.
"Yes, my Slowfoot--you are right. I must reform. I will cast off mysloth as a garment--even--even though I should go naked all the rest ofmy days! I will work--energise! I will--"
"Hold your tongue, La Certe, and listen," said Dan in a low, sternvoice.
"I am all attention," returned the poor man in a similarly low tone.
"Are you game to fight, if you get the chance?"
"Game to fight!" echoed the other--"to fight for my Slowfoot, my littleone, my smoke, and my repo--I mean my--my--new--"
"Speak lower, man, and listen to a plan I have in my head."
Here Dan spoke so low that he could not be heard at all, save only byhis companion; but that is of little consequence, for the plan, whateverit might have been, was never carried out.
Next day the Nor'-west party with their two prisoners paddled awaytowards the mouth of the grand turbulent Winnipeg River, and began totraverse the weary wilderness-route of rivers and lakes, which at thattime formed the only direct means of communication between the frontiersof Canada and "Rupert's Land."