The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood by R. M. Ballantyne (the ebook reader .TXT) 📖

brow of a knoll to rest for a few minutes, “and Petawanaquat’s horse, whether good or bad, is double-weighted—although, to be sure, Tony is not heavy.”

“Besides,” said Ian, “the redskin does not dream now of pursuit; so that, pressing on as we do, we must overtake him ere long.”

“Voilà, de buffalo!” said Rollin, pointing to a group of these huge creatures, in the midst of which two bulls were waging furious war, while the cows stood by and looked on. “Shall ve go an’ chase dem?”

“No, Rollin; we have more important game to chase,” said Victor, whose conscience, now that he was free from the exciting influences of the camp, had twinged him more than once for his delay—even although it was partly justifiable—while the image of poor Tony, with outstretched, appealing hands on a flying horse behind a savage, was ever before him. “Come on come on!”

He switched his horse, and went skimming down the slope, followed by his comrades.

Soon they came to a place where the ground was more broken and rocky.

“Voilà! a bar! a bar!” shouted the excitable half-breed; “com, kill him!”

They looked, and there, sure enough, was an object which Rollin declared was a large grizzly bear. It was a long way off, however, and the ground between them seemed very broken and difficult to traverse on horseback. Ian Macdonald thought of the bear’s claws, and a collar, and Elsie, and tightened his reins. Then he thought of the risk of breaking a horse’s leg if the bear should lead them a long chase over such ground, and of the certain loss of time, and of Petawanaquat pushing on ahead. It was a tempting opportunity, but his power of self-denial triumphed.

“No, Rollin, we have no time to hunt.”

“Behold!” exclaimed Rollin again; “more buffalo!”

They had swept past the stony ground and rounded a clump of trees, behind which a small herd of animals stood for a few seconds, staring at them in mute amazement. These snorted, set up their tails, and tore wildly away to the right. This was too much. With a gleeful yell, Rollin turned to pursue, but Victor called to him angrily to let the buffalo be. The half-breed turned back with a sigh.

“Ah, vell! ve must forbear.”

“I say, Vic,” remarked Ian, with a significant smile, “why won’t you go after the buffalo?”

Victor looked at his friend in surprise.

“Surely,” he said, “it is more important as well as more interesting to rescue one’s brother than to chase wild animals!”

“True, but how does that sentiment accord with your wish that you might spend eternity in hunting buffalo?”

“Oh, you know,” returned Victor, with a laugh, “when I said that I wasn’t thinking of—of—”

He switched his horse into a wilder gallop, and said no more. He had said quite enough. He was not the only youth in North America and elsewhere who has uttered a good deal of nonsense without “thinking.” But then that was long ago. Youths are wiser now!

On the evening of that day, when the sun went down, and when it became too dark to follow the trail, and, therefore, unsafe to travel for fear of stumbling into badger-holes, the three friends pulled up beside a clump of wood on the margin of a little stream, and prepared their encampment.

Little did they imagine, while busy with the fire and kettle, how nearly they had gained their end, yet how disastrously they had missed it. Well for man, sometimes, that he is ignorant of what takes place around him. Had the three pursuers known who was encamped in a clump of trees not half a mile beyond them, they would not have feasted that night so heartily, nor would they have gone to sleep with such calm placidity.

In the clump of trees referred to, Petawanaquat himself sat smoking over the dying embers of the fire that had cooked his recently devoured supper, and Tony, full to repletion, lay on his back gazing at him in quiet satisfaction, mingled slightly with wonder; for Tony was a philosopher in a small way, and familiarity with his father’s pipe had failed to set at rest a question which perplexed his mind, namely, why men should draw smoke into their mouths merely to puff it out again!

When the pipe and the camp-fire had burnt low, Tony observed, with much interest, that the Indian’s eyes became suddenly fixed, that his nostrils dilated, his lips ceased to move, the cloud that had just escaped from them curled round the superincumbent nose and disappeared without being followed by another cloud, and the entire man became rigid like a brown statue. At that point Tony ceased to think, because tired nature asserted her claims, and he fell sound asleep.

The practised ear of the Indian had detected the sound of horses’ feet on the prairie. To any ordinary man no sound at all would have been perceptible save the sighing of the night wind. Petawanaquat, however, not only heard the tramp, but could distinguish it from that of buffalo. He rose softly, ascertained that Tony was asleep, turned aside the bushes, and melted into darkness among the trees. Presently he emerged on the plain at the other side of the clump, and there stood still. Patience is one of the red man’s characteristics. He did not move hand or foot for half an hour, during which time, despite the distance of the neighbouring clump, he could easily make out the sound of an axe chopping wood, and even heard human voices in conversation. Then a gleam of light flickered among the trees, and the kindling camp-fire of our three friends became visible.

The Indian now felt comparatively safe. He knew that, whoever the new arrivals might be, they were unsuspicious of his presence in the vicinity, and had encamped for the night. He also knew that when men are busy with supper they are not very watchful, especially when danger is not expected. He, therefore, gave them another quarter of an hour to prepare supper, and then moved stealthily over the plain towards them.

On gaining the shelter of the trees, Petawanaquat advanced with cat-like caution, until he could clearly see the travellers. He recognised them instantly, and a dark frown settled on his features. His first thought was to steal their horses, and thus leave them incapable of pursuing further, but Ian Macdonald was too much of a backwoodsman to give a foe the opportunity to do this. The horses were tethered close beside the fire. Then the Indian thought of shooting them, but his gun being a single-barrel, such as was sold to the Indians by the fur-traders, could only dispose of one horse at a time, thus leaving the other two to his incensed enemies, who would probably capture him before he could reload or regain his own camp. With a feeling of baffled rage he suddenly thought of murder. He could easily kill Ian Macdonald, could probably reload before Rollin should overtake him, and as for Victor, he was nothing! Quick as thought the Indian raised his gun, and took a long steady aim at Ian’s forehead.

The contemplative schoolmaster was looking at the fire, thinking of Elsie at the time. He smiled as he thought of her. Perhaps it was the smile that checked the savage perhaps it was the words, “Thou shalt not kill,” which had been sounded in his ears more than once during the past winter by the missionary. At all events, the fatal trigger was not drawn. Ian’s contemplations were not disturbed, the gun was lowered, and the savage melted once more into the deep shade of the thicket.

Returning to his own camp in the same cat-like manner as before, Petawanaquat quietly but quickly packed his provisions, etcetera, on his horse. When all was ready he tried to awaken Tony, but Tony slept the sleep of infancy and comparative innocence. The Indian pushed him, kicked him, even lifted him up and shook him, before he awoke. Then, expressing astonishment at having to resume the journey at so early an hour, the child submitted silently to orders.

In a few minutes the Indian led his horse down to the rivulet close at hand, crossed it with Tony, half asleep, clinging to his back, ascended the opposite bank, and gained the level plain. Here he mounted, with Tony in front to guard against the risk of his falling off in a state of slumber, and galloped away.

Fortunately for him, the moon had risen, for red men are not a whit better than white at seeing in the dark. Indeed, we question the proverbial capacity of cats in that way. True, the orb of night was clouded, and only in her first quarter, but she gave light enough to enable the horseman to avoid dangers and proceed at full speed. Thus, while the pursuers snored, the pursued went scouring over the prairies, farther and farther towards the fair west.

Michel Rollin, being a lively, restless character, used generally to be up before his comrades in the mornings, and gratified an inquisitive propensity by poking about. In his pokings he discovered the trail of the midnight visitor, and thereupon set up a howl of surprise that effectually roused Ian and Victor. These, guns in hand, rushed, as they fancied, to the rescue.

“What a noisy goose you are!” said Victor, on learning the cause of the cry.

“There is reason for haste, however,” said Ian, rising from a close inspection of the trail. “Some one has been here in the night watching us. Why he didn’t join us if a friend, or kill us if an enemy, puzzles me. If there were horse-tracks about I should say it must have been Petawanaquat himself. Come, we must mount and away without breakfast.”

They went off accordingly, and soon traced the Indian’s original track to the place where he had encamped. Petawanaquat had taken the precaution to pour water on his fire, so as to cool the ashes, and thus lead to the supposition that he had been gone a considerable time, but Ian was not to be so easily deceived. The moment he had examined the extinct fire, and made up his mind, he leaped up and followed the trail to the spot where the Indian had mounted.

“Now then, mount, boys!” he cried, vaulting into the saddle, “no time to lose. The redskin seems to have a good horse, and knows we are at his heels. It will be a straight end-on race now. Hup! get along!”

Their course at first lay over a level part of the plain, which rendered full speed possible; then they came to a part where the thick grass grew rank and high, rendering the work severe. As the sun rose high, they came to a small pond, or pool.

“The rascal has halted here, I see!” cried Ian, pulling up, leaping off, and running to the water, which he lifted to his mouth in both hands, while his panting horse stooped and drank. “It was very likely more for Tony’s sake than for his own. But if he could stop, so can we for a few minutes.”

“It vill make de horses go more better,” said Rollin, unstrapping the pemmican bag.

“That’s right,” cried Victor, “give us a junk—a big one—so—thanks, we can eat it as we go.”

Up and away they went again, urging their horses now to do their utmost, for they began to hope that the day of success had surely arrived.

Still far ahead of his pursuers, the Indian rode alone without check or halt, to the alarm of Tony, who felt that something unusual had occurred to make his self-appointed father look so fierce.

“What de matter?” he ventured to ask. “Nobody chase us.”

“Let Tonyquat shut his mouth,” was the brief reply. And Tony obeyed. He was learning fast!

Suddenly the air on the horizon ahead became clouded. The eyes of the savage dilated with an expression that almost amounted to alarm. Could it be fire? It was—the prairie on fire! As the wind blew