Wrecked but not Ruined by R. M. Ballantyne (best manga ereader .TXT) 📖

In the small doorway stood the figure of a man who was so large as almost to fill up the entrance, and so black, by contrast with the glowing background, that neither feature nor form was distinguishable save his sharp outline. The outline, however, was a remarkably telling one. It told of a broad chest and square shoulders, of massive limbs, and an easy air, and a sturdy attitude, and suggested difficulty in the way of entering that hut without leave asked and obtained.

“Hallo!” exclaimed the outline, in a voice so deep that it must have been unfathomable.

“How d’ee do, Bellew?” cried Reginald Redding, as he drove into the stream of light, pulled up, and sprang from the sleigh.

“Hearty, sir, hearty, thank ’ee,” replied the outline, advancing and becoming a little more visible on the surface as he did so. “Hallo! Le Rue, how are ’ee? Glad to see you both. Step in. A good fire on a coldish night is cheery—ain’t it, Mister Redding?”

“Indeed it is, Bellew, especially when the night happens to be also darkish.”

“Ha! oui,” interposed Le Rue, bustling into the hut with the bear-rug, “it vas so darkish dat ve capsize under de cliff an’ a’most knock de whole affair to smattoms—sleigh, cheval, an’ peepil.”

“I’m glad to see that the ‘peepil’ is all right, however,” said Bellew, glancing at his visitors with what may be called a grave smile; “it might have bin worse, for that’s an ugly corner under the cliff, an’ needs careful drivin’ even in daylight.”

“I’ve not come off quite scatheless, however,” said Redding, rubbing the top of his head tenderly, “for here is a bump that would perplex the whole college of phrenologists.”

“Skin broke, sir?” asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part. “No, all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a phrenologist now, I’d name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir; sit down, Le Rue, an’ look after my kettle while I see to your nag.”

So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.

Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic. He was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly humorous disposition. No one knew where he came from or why he had taken up his abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough fellows who hang on the outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they said, to “pump” him on these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or a deep one, for pumping brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood by shooting, fishing, trapping wild animals for their skins, and, sometimes, by doing what he called “odd jobs” in the settlements.

“Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it,” said Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.

“That seems to be the idea of most men who come here,” replied the trapper, “but it’s not many that favour me with a visit.”

“Ha! vraiment, dat must be true,” interposed the Canadian, “for no body vill com’ here ’xcept them as do want hims legs broke.”

“Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came to this location,” said Jonas, “but such accidents occur chiefly among the Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set.”

“Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh,” retorted Le Rue.

“Perhaps you’re right, an’ mayhap you’re wrong, lad, anyway here is supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an’ go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I’ve not found time yet to make chairs, but it’s wonderful how well a man gets along without such luxuries.”

“Especially when a man sits down to a venison-steak like this,” said the fur-trader, taking the offered seat, while his man sat down on a block of wood set on end, and prepared to prove the truth of the trapper’s assertion in regard to French capacity for food.

“’Taint venison,” said Bellew, assisting his companions to the meat in question, “it’s bear.”

“Indeed? and not bad food for a hungry man,” returned Redding, as he began supper. “Where got you him?”

“Down near Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods are setting up their saw-mill.”

“The McLeods!” exclaimed Redding, looking up suddenly, “have you seen the McLeods?”

“Ay, I’ve bin helpin’ them a bit wi’ the mill. Goin’ down again to-morrow. If this weather holds, the ice must give way soon, and then we’ll be able to push ahead faster.”

The trapper said this quietly and without looking up from the bear-steak with which he was busy, so that Redding’s look of surprise appeared to be lost on him. The fur-trader and his man exchanged glances.

For a few minutes the process of mastication completely engrossed the trio, but the thoughts of the fur-trader were busy, for he was disappointed to find that one whom he respected so much as Jonas Bellew should thus coolly state that he was aiding the interlopers.

Presently he laid down his knife and fork, and said:—

“Are you aware, Bellew, that these McLeods have settled themselves on the Company’s reserve lands?”

“No, sir, I wasn’t aware of it.”

“Well, then, I now tell you that they have,” said Redding, who, unfortunately for himself and others, possessed an easily-roused spirit and was apt to become irascible when the rights—real or supposed—of the Company which he represented appeared in danger of violation. “At least,” he continued, in a less positive tone, “I have reason to believe that such is the case, and I am now on my way to—”

He paused abruptly, feeling the impropriety of revealing his plans to one who, although a quiet and sensible man, and not given to talk too much, was, nevertheless, by his own admission, an aider and abettor of the enemy.

“Whereabouts is the boundary line?” asked Bellew, after a short silence.

“At Jenkins Creek—that creek is the boundary,” answered the fur-trader. “On which side of the creek have they begun to build the mill?”

“They haven’t begun yet, sir, but I believe they intend to commence on the south side.”

“So far well,” replied Redding, “but if I find that they have raised a stone or planted a stake on the north side of the creek, I’ll—”

Here feeling that he was about to give way to a boastful spirit, he got himself out of the difficulty of having to finish the sentence by making a sudden and somewhat stern demand for “more bear-steak.”

“Vid pleasieur, Monsieur,” said Le Rue, placing a huge slice on his master’s plate.

“Well, sir, I hope you’ll find that they haven’t overstepped the boundary,” said Bellew, “because the McLeods look as if they’d be troublesome customers to deal with.”

The fur-trader made no reply. He felt indignant at the bare idea of his being checked in doing his duty by any man, or men, who were “troublesome,” by which expression he understood Bellew to mean that they were resolute and physically powerful in opposition; he therefore thought it best to avoid any further tendency to boast by holding his tongue.

Not so his volatile retainer, who stuck his fork into a lump of meat vindictively, as if it had been the body of a McLeod, and exclaimed:—

“Hah! vat you say? troblesom, eh? who care for dat? If de Macklodds do touche, by von small hinch, de lands of de Companie—ve vill—hah!”

Another stab of the fork was all that the savage Le Rue vouchsafed as an explanation of his intentions.

In this frame of mind Reginald Redding and his man started off next morning on foot at an early hour, slept that night at a place called Sam’s hut, and, the following evening, drew near to the end of their journey.