The Young Fur Traders Part 30

"My dear fellow, you quite misunderstand me. I'm amazed at your pluck, your energy. _Soft_, indeed! we have been most egregiously mistaken.

Provocation! I just think you had; my only sorrow is that you didn't give him a little more."

"Come, come, Harry; I see you would be as cruel to him as he was to the poor dog. But let us press forward; it is already growing dark, and we must not let the fellow out of sight ahead of us."

"_Allons, donc_," cried Harry; and hastening their steps, they travelled silently and rapidly among the stems of the trees, while the shades of night gathered slowly round them.

That night the three travellers encamped in the snow under the shelter of a spreading pine. The encampment was formed almost exactly in a similar manner to that in which they had slept on the night of their exploits at North River. They talked less, however, than on that occasion, and slept more soundly. Before retiring to rest, and while Harry was extended, half asleep and half awake, on his green blanket, enjoying the delightful repose that follows a hard day's march and a good supper, Hamilton drew near to the Indian, who sat sullenly smoking a little apart from the young men. Sitting down beside him, he administered a long rebuke in a low, grave tone of voice. Like rebukes generally, it had the effect of making the visage of the Indian still more sullen. But the young man did not appear to notice this; he still continued to talk. As he went on, the look grew less and less sullen, until it faded entirely away, and was succeeded by the grave, quiet, respectful expression peculiar to the face of the North American Indian.

Day succeeded day, night followed night, and still found them plodding laboriously through the weary waste of snow, or encamping under the trees of the forest. The two friends went through all the varied stages of experience which are included in what is called "becoming used to the work," which is sometimes a modified meaning of the expression "used up." They started with a degree of vigour that one would have thought no amount of hard work could possibly abate. They became aware of the melancholy fact that fatigue unstrings the youngest and toughest sinews.

They pressed on, however, from stern necessity, and found, to their delight, that young muscles recover their elasticity even in the midst of severe exertion. They still pressed on, and discovered, to their dismay, that this recovery was only temporary, and that the second state of exhaustion was infinitely worse than the first. Still they pressed on, and raised blisters on their feet and toes that caused them to limp woefully; then they learned that blisters break and take a long time to heal, and are much worse to walk upon during the healing process than they are at the commencement--at which time they innocently fancied that nothing could be more dreadful. Still they pressed on day after day, and found to their satisfaction that such things can be endured and overcome; that feet and toes can become hard like leather, that muscles can grow tough as india-rubber, and that spirits and energy can attain to a pitch of endurance which nothing within the compa.s.s of a day's march can by any possibility overcome. They found also, from experience, that their conversation changed, both in manner and subject, as they progressed on their journey. At first they conversed frequently and on various topics, chiefly on the probability of their being sent to pleasant places or the reverse. Then they spoke less frequently, and growled occasionally, as they advanced in the painful process of training. After that, as they began to get hardy, they talked of the trees, the snow, the ice, the tracks of wild animals they happened to cross, and the objects of nature generally that came under their observation. Then as their muscles hardened and their sinews grew tough, and the day's march at length became first a matter of indifference, and ultimately an absolute pleasure, they chatted cheerily on any and every subject, or sang occasionally, when the sun shone out and cast an _appearance_ of warmth across their path. Thus onward they pressed, without halt or stay, day after day, through wood and brake, over river and lake, on ice and on snow, for miles and miles together, through the great, uninhabited, frozen wilderness.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

HOPES AND FEARS--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--PHILOSOPHICAL TALK BETWEEN THE HUNTER AND THE PARSON.

On arriving at Norway House, Harry Somerville and his friend Hamilton found that they were to remain at that establishment during an indefinite period of time, until it should please those in whose hands their ultimate destination lay to direct them how and where to proceed.

This was an unlooked-for trial of their patience; but after the first exclamation of disappointment, they made up their minds, like wise men, to think no more about it, but bide their time, and make the most of present circ.u.mstances.

"You see," remarked Hamilton, as the two friends, after having had an audience of the gentleman in charge of the establishment, sauntered toward the rocks that overhang the margin of Playgreen Lake--"you see, it is of no use to fret about what we cannot possibly help. n.o.body within three hundred miles of us knows where we are destined to spend next winter. Perhaps orders may come in a couple of weeks, perhaps in a couple of months, but they will certainly come at last. Anyhow, it is of no use thinking about it, so we had better forget it, and make the best of things as we find them."

"Ah!" exclaimed Harry, "your advice is that we should by all means be happy, and if we can't be happy, be as happy as we can. Is that it?"

"Just so. That's it exactly."

"Ho! But then you see, Hammy, you're a philosopher, and I'm not, and that makes all the difference. I'm not given to antic.i.p.ating evil, but I cannot help dreading that they will send me to some lonely, swampy, out-of-the-way hole, where there will be no society, no shooting, no riding, no work even to speak of--nothing, in fact, but the miserable satisfaction of being styled `bourgeois' by five or six men, wretched outcasts like myself."

"Come, Harry," cried Hamilton, "you are taking the very worst view of it. There certainly are plenty of such outposts in the country, but you know very well that young fellows like you are seldom sent to such places."

"I don't know that," interrupted Harry. "There's young McAndrew: he was sent to an outpost up the Mackenzie his second year in the service, where he was all but starved, and had to live for about two weeks on boiled parchment. Then there's poor Forrester: he was s.h.i.+pped off to a place--the name of which I never could remember--somewhere between the head-waters of the Athabasca Lake and the North Pole. To be sure, he had good shooting, I'm told, but he had only four labouring men to enjoy it with; and he has been there _ten_ years now, and he has more than once had to sc.r.a.pe the rocks of that detestable stuff called _tripe de roche_ to keep himself alive. And then there's--"

"Very true," interrupted Hamilton. "Then there's your friend Charles Kennedy, whom you so often talk about, and many other young fellows we know, who have been sent to the Saskatchewan, and to the Columbia, and to Athabasca, and to a host of other capital places, where they have enough of society--male society, at least--and good sport."

The young men had climbed a rocky eminence which commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and the fort, with its background of woods, on the other. Here they sat down on a stone, and continued for some time to admire the scene in silence.

"Yes," said Harry, resuming the thread of discourse, "you are right: we have a good chance of seeing some pleasant parts of the country. But suspense is not pleasant. O man, if they would only send me up the Saskatchewan River! I've set my heart upon going there. I'm quite sure it's the very best place in the whole country."

"You've told the truth that time, master," said a deep voice behind them.

The young men turned quickly round. Close beside them, and leaning composedly on a long Indian fowling-piece, stood a tall, broad-shouldered, sunburned man, apparently about forty years of age.

He was dressed in the usual leathern hunting-coat, cloth leggings, fur cap, mittens, and moccasins that const.i.tute the winter garb of a hunter; and had a grave, firm, but good-humoured expression of countenance.

"You've told the truth that time, master," he repeated, without moving from his place. "The Saskatchewan _is_, to my mind, the best place in the whole country; and havin' seen a considerable deal o' places in my time, I can speak from experience."

"Indeed, friend," said Harry, "I'm glad to hear you say so. Come, sit down beside us, and let's hear something about it."

Thus invited, the hunter seated himself on a stone and laid his gun on the hollow of his left arm.

"First of all, friend," continued Harry, "do you belong to the fort here?"

"No," replied the man; "I'm stayin' here just now, but I don't belong to the place."

"Where do you come from, then, and what's your name?"

"Why, I've comed d'rect from the Saskatchewan with a packet o' letters.

I'm payin' a visit to the missionary village yonder"--the hunter pointed as he spoke across the lake--"and when the ice breaks up I shall get a canoe and return again."

"And your name?"

"Why, I've got four or five names. Somehow or other, people have given me a nickname wherever I ha' chanced to go. But my true name, and the one I hail by just now, is Jacques Caradoc."

"Jacques Caradoc!" exclaimed Harry, starting with surprise. "You knew a Charley Kennedy in the Saskatchewan, did you?"

"That did I. As fine a lad as ever pulled a trigger."

"Give us your hand, friend," exclaimed Harry, springing forward and seizing the hunter's large, hard fist in both hands. "Why, man, Charley is my dearest friend, and I had a letter from him some time ago in which he speaks of you, and says you're one of the best fellows he ever met."

"You don't say so," replied the hunter, returning Harry's grasp warmly, while his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a quiet smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes I do," said Harry; "and I'm very nearly as glad to meet with you, friend Jacques, as I would be to meet with him. But come; it's cold work talking here. Let's go to my room; there's a fire in the stove.-- Come along, Hammy;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he hurried him along to his quarters in the fort.

Just as they were pa.s.sing under the fort gate, a large ma.s.s of snow became detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet, pa.s.sing within an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back with an exclamation, and became very red in the face.

"Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went so close to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving."

"Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamilton quietly.

"What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques in a low voice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance.

"I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I been asked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I should ha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've learned from experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver thinks o'

formin' an opinion o' any one till I've seen them called to sudden action. It's astonis.h.i.+n' how some faint-hearted men will come to face a danger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get warnin'; but take them by surprise--that's the way to try them."

"Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion of Hamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think."

"True, master; but _that_ kind o' start don't prove much. Hows'ever, I don't think he's easy upset. He does look uncommon soft, and his face grew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip showed that it wasn't from fear."

During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the three friends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of the stove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual on its hind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were pithily answered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat behind the stove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his much-loved pipe; while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened with eager avidity to anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the narrator's pipe, to be inexhaustible.

"Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose at last to depart; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You must come back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend Redfeather.

Where did you say you left him?"

"In the Saskatchewan, master. He said that he would wait there, as he'd heerd the missionary was comin' up to pay the Injins a visit."

"By-the-bye, you're going over to the missionary's place to-morrow, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"Ah, then, that'll do. I'll go over with you. How far off is it?"