The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne
“Who can it be, I wonder?” said Charley, who had left the tent, and was now standing beside the guide.
“Difficult to say, monsieur. Perhaps Injins, though I thought there were none here just now. But I’m not surprised that we’ve attracted something to us. Livin’ creeturs always come nat’rally to the light, and there’s plenty fire on the point to-night.”
“Rather more than enough,” replied Charley, abruptly, as a slight motion of wind sent the flames curling round his head and singed off his eyelashes. “Why, Louis, it’s my firm belief that if I ever get to the end of this journey, I’ll not have a hair left on my head.”
Louis smiled.
“O monsieur, you will learn to observe things before you have been long in the wilderness. If you will edge round to leeward of the fire, you can’t expect it to respect you.”
Just at this moment a loud hurrah rang through the copse, and Harry Somerville sprang over the fire into the arms of Charley, who received him with a hug and a look of unutterable amazement.
“Charley, my boy!”
“Harry Somerville, I declare!”
For at least five minutes Charley could not recover his composure sufficiently to declare anything else, but stood with open mouth and eyes, and elevated eyebrows, looking at his young friend, who capered and danced round the fire in a manner that threw the cook’s performances in that line quite into the shade, while he continued all the time to shout fragments of sentences that were quite unintelligible to any one. It was evident that Harry was in a state of immense delight at something unknown save to himself, but which, in the course of a few minutes, was revealed to his wondering friends.
“Charley, I’m going! hurrah!” and he leaped about in a manner that induced Charley to say he would not only be going, but very soon gone, if he did not keep further away from the fire.
“Yes, Charley, I’m going with you! I upset the stool, tilted the ink-bottle over the invoice-book, sent the poker almost through the back of the fireplace, and smashed Tom Whyte’s best whip on the back of the ‘noo ’oss,’ as I galloped him over the plains for the last time—all for joy, because I’m going with you, Charley, my darling!”
Here Harry suddenly threw his arms round his friend’s neck, meditating an embrace. As both boys were rather fond of using their muscles violently, the embrace degenerated into a wrestle, which caused them to threaten complete destruction to the fire as they staggered in front of it, and ended in their tumbling against the tent, and nearly breaking its poles and fastenings, to the horror and indignation of Mr Park, who was smoking his pipe within, quietly waiting till Harry’s superabundant glee was over, that he might get an explanation of his unexpected arrival among them.
“Ah, they will be good voyageurs!” cried one of the men, as he looked on at this scene.
“Oui, oui! good boys, active lads,” replied the others, laughing. The two boys rose hastily.
“Yes,” cried Harry, breathless, but still excited, “I’m going all the way, and a great deal farther. I’m going to hunt buffaloes in the Saskatchewan, and grizzly bears in the—the—in fact everywhere! I’m going down the Mackenzie River—I’m going mad, I believe;” and Harry gave another caper and another shout, and tossed his cap high into the air. Having been recklessly tossed, it came down into the fire. When it went in, it was dark blue; but when Harry dashed into the flames in consternation to save it, it came out of a rich brown colour.
“Now, youngster,” said Mr Park, “when you’ve done capering I should like to ask you one or two questions. What brought you here?”
“A canoe,” said Harry, inclined to be impudent.
“Oh! and pray for what purpose have you come here?”
“These are my credentials,” handing him a letter.
Mr Park opened the note and read.
“Ah! oh! Saskatchewan—hum—yes—outpost—wild boy—just so—keep him at it—ay, fit for nothing else. So,” said Mr Park, folding the paper, “I find that Mr Grant has sent you to take the place of a young gentleman we expected to pick up at Norway House, but who is required elsewhere; and that he wishes you to see a good deal of rough life—to be made a trader of, in fact. Is that your desire?”
“That’s the very ticket!” replied Harry, scarcely able to restrain his delight at the prospect.
“Well, then, you had better get supper and turn in, for you’ll have to begin your new life by rising at three o’clock to-morrow morning. Have you got a tent?”
“Yes,” said Harry, pointing to his canoe, which had been brought to the fire and turned bottom up by the two Indians to whom it belonged, and who were reclining under its shelter enjoying their pipes, and watching with looks of great gravity the doings of Harry and his friend.
“That will return whence it came to-morrow. Have you no other?”
“Oh yes,” said Harry, pointing to the overhanging branches of a willow close at hand, “lots more.”
Mr Park smiled grimly, and turning on his heel re-entered the tent and continued his pipe, while Harry flung himself down beside Charley under the bark canoe.
This species of “tent” is, however, by no means a perfect one. An Indian canoe is seldom three feet broad—frequently much narrower—so that it only affords shelter for the body as far down as the waist, leaving the extremities exposed. True, one may double up as nearly as possible into half one’s length, but this is not a desirable position to maintain throughout an entire night. Sometimes, when the weather is very bad, an additional protection is procured by leaning several poles against the bottom of the canoe, on the weather side, in such a way as to slope considerably over the front; and over these are spread pieces of birch bark or branches and moss, so as to form a screen, which is an admirable shelter. But this involves too much time and labour to be adopted during a voyage, and is only done when the travellers are under the necessity of remaining for some time in one place.
The canoe in which Harry arrived was a pretty large one, and looked so comfortable when arranged for the night that Charley resolved to abandon his own tent and Mr Park’s society, and sleep with his friend.
“I’ll sleep with you, Harry, my boy,” said he, after Harry had explained to him in detail the cause of his being sent away from Red River; which was no other than that a young gentleman, as Mr Park said, who was to have gone, had been ordered elsewhere.
“That’s right, Charley; spread out our blankets, while I get some supper, like a good fellow.” Harry went in search of the kettle while his friend prepared their bed. First, he examined the ground on which the canoe lay, and found that the two Indians had already taken possession of the only level places under it. “Humph!” he ejaculated, half inclined to rouse them up, but immediately dismissed the idea as unworthy of a voyageur. Besides, Charley was an amiable, unselfish fellow, and would rather have lain on the top of a dozen stumps than have made himself comfortable at the expense of any one else.
He paused a moment to consider. On one side was a hollow “that” (as he soliloquised to himself) “would break the back of a buffalo.” On the other side were a dozen little stumps surrounding three very prominent ones, that threatened destruction to the ribs of any one who should venture to lie there. But Charley did not pause to consider long. Seizing his axe, he laid about him vigorously with the head of it, and in a few seconds destroyed all the stumps, which he carefully collected, and, along with some loose moss and twigs, put into the hollow, and so filled it up. Having improved things thus far, he rose and strode out of the circle of light into the wood. In a few minutes he reappeared, bearing a young spruce fir tree on his shoulder, which with the axe he stripped of its branches. These branches were flat in form, and elastic—admirably adapted for making a bed on; and when Charley spread them out under the canoe in a pile of about four inches in depth by