The Red Man's Revenge Part 22

This was but one of the varied and stirring adventures which befell our little hero while under the care of his red-skinned captor.

What pa.s.sed in the mind of the Indian during that winter Tony had little opportunity of knowing, for he was remarkably taciturn, though at night, when smoking the calumet over his wigwam fire, the thoughtful expression of his face, and occasional troubled look on his brows, suggested the idea that he was ill at ease. He frequently gazed at his captive as if about to speak to him seriously, but as often seemed to abandon the idea with something like a sigh.

One evening, however, Petawanaquat seemed more troubled than usual, and held frequent earnest consultations with Meekeye in an undertone, in the midst of which Tony could distinguish a few words, such as "tracks,"

"white strangers," "encampment," etcetera. Before going to rest the Indian smoked an extra pipe, and then said--

"Tonyquat is a brave boy!"

"Yes," answered Tony, with an air of gravity quite equal to that of his red father. The few months he had been in captivity had indeed wrought an almost miraculous change in the child. His ideas were much more manly. Even his speech had lost its childish lisp, and he had begun to express himself somewhat in the allegorical language of the American Indian. Under the influence of a will stronger than his own he had proved himself an apt scholar.

"Tonyquat is a boy who keeps his word?" continued the other, with a keen glance.

Tony turned his large eyes full on the Indian.

"Has my Indian father ever found Tonyquat telling lies?"

To this Petawanaquat said "Good," and smoked his pipe with increasing vigour, while Tony sat with his hands clasped over one knee, gazing sternly at the fire, as though he were engaged in consulting on matters of life and death. He glanced, however, for one instant at Meekeye, to see that she observed his staid demeanour. The same glance revealed to Tony the fact that Meekeye's right foot was rather near the fire, with the red-hot end of a log close to it. Tony's own left foot chanced to rest on the other and unburnt end of the same log. A very gentle motion on his part sufficed to bring Meekeye's toes and the fire into contact.

She drew back with a sudden start, but was too much of an Indian to scream. Tony was enough of one to remain motionless and abstracted like a brown statue. The slightest possible twitch at one corner of Petawanaquat's mouth showed that he had observed the movement, but his brow did not relax as he said--

"Tonyquat must make his red father a promise. White men are coming here. They travel towards the setting sun. If they hear the voice of Tonyquat they will take him away."

"Will they take me to my own father?" cried Tony, forgetting his role in the excitement of the moment.

"Petawanaquat has said that the white strangers travel towards the setting sun. Red River lies in the direction of the rising sun. Would Tonyquat like to go with white strangers into the mountains?"

Tony was most emphatic in his denial of entertaining any such desire, and declared with his wonted candour that he loved Petawanaquat and Meekeye next to his own father and mother.

"If this be so," returned the Indian, "Tonyquat must be dumb when the white men speak to him. He must know nothing. His voice must be more silent than the waters of a lake when the wind is dead."

Tony promised to be as dumb as a stone, as ignorant as a new-born infant, and as quiet as a dead man. He then questioned the Indian about the white men, but obtained no further information than that Petawanaquat had come on their camp unexpectedly the day before, had observed them secretly from among the bushes, knew that the route they were pursuing would infallibly lead them to his wigwam, and that therefore he had hurried home to be ready for them. He could not tell who the white men were. They looked like traders--that was all he knew, or, at least, chose to communicate.

That night Meekeye repainted Tony's neck and face with considerable care; dyed his luxuriant hair with grease and charcoal; touched up his eyebrows with the same, and caused him to dirty his hands effectively with mud and ashes.

Next morning, a little after sunrise, the twinkle of bells, the yelping of dogs, and the cracking of whips were heard. Petawanaquat and Tony had just time to step out of the tent when a cariole, somewhat in the form of a slipper-bath, drawn by four dogs, dashed up to the door. The dogs, being fresh and young, took to fighting. Their driver, who wore a head-dress with horns, belaboured the combatants and abused them in French, while a tall, quiet-looking man arose from the furs of the cariole, and, mounting the slope on which the Indian stood to receive him, advanced towards the wigwam. Some minutes later another team of dogs with a provision-sled and driver came rattling up.

"What cheer?" said the tall man heartily, as he held out his hand.

"Wat-chee?" replied Petawanaquat, grasping the hand, and repeating the phrase as he had learnt it in the settlements.

The tall man was very affable, and at once revealed the object of his journey. He was a missionary, he said, and was making a tour among the native tribes of that region to preach the good news of salvation from sin and its consequences through Jesus Christ the Son of G.o.d.

Petawanaquat listened with grave intelligence, but with the reticence of an Indian.

"Some tribes of Indians, I have been told, are encamped not far from this spot," said the missionary through his interpreter.

Petawanaquat admitted that such was the case, and that some lodges of Indians were pitched in the mountains not two days' march from his tent.

The missionary entered the wigwam and sat down. He gradually introduced the subject of his mission, and endeavoured to bring it home to the Indian and his wife, who, however, replied in very brief sentences. He also addressed Tony, but that sharp child seemed to be less impressionable than a pine stump, and refused to utter a word on any subject. The missionary, however, was a true man, with the love of G.o.d burning brightly in his breast. Although slightly disappointed he was not discouraged. He spoke of Christ crucified with great earnestness, and commended the Christian virtues--among others the duty of forgiving, nay, even loving, one's enemies, and especially of returning good for evil. He also dwelt much on the wickedness of harbouring revengeful feelings, and on the sweetness and blessedness of doing good to others-- enforcing his arguments on the latter point by quoting the Saviour's own words, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."

Still the red man listened with stolid composure, Meekeye with apparent indifference, and Tony with absolute vacancy, so that the missionary, after offering up a silent prayer, went on his way with a sad feeling at his heart that his labour with that family of savages had been in vain.

He comforted himself, however, with the reflection that it is written, "Your labour is _not_ in vain in the Lord."

And he was right. His labour had not been in vain, though it was not given to him at that time to see the fruit thereof.

We have said that Petawanaquat had smoked and pondered deeply in the evenings that winter over his wigwam fire. His slightly enlightened mind had been busy with those difficult problems about good and evil, G.o.d and man, which seem to exercise all earnest souls more or less in every land, savage as well as civilised. The revenge which he had taken on Mr Ravenshaw was sweet--very sweet, for his indignation against that irascible old gentleman was very bitter; justifiably so, he thought.

But the clergyman at Red River had enlightened the red man's conscience, and conscience being once aroused cannot easily be put to sleep again.

His reasoning powers told him that the revenge which he had taken was far in excess of the injury which he had received. This was unjust, and conscience told him that injustice was wrong. The great Manitou Himself could not be unjust. Had He not taken the guilt of man on Himself in the person of Jesus, in order that, without injustice, He might be the justifier of sinners? Injustice is wrong, reiterated conscience again and again; but revenge is sweet, thought the Indian.

Now this visit of the missionary had cleared the mind of Petawanaquat to some extent. It was a new idea to him that returning good for evil was sweeter than revenge. He coupled this thought with the fact that the Saviour had laid down His life for His _enemies_, and the result was that a change, gradual but decided, was wrought in the red man's sentiments. The seed thus sown by the wayside fell into good ground.

Unlike ordinary seed, it bore fruit during the winter, and that fruit ripened into action in the spring.

"Tonyquat," said the red man one morning, after much of the snow had left the ground, "your Indian father intends to start on a long journey to-morrow."

"Petawanaquat," replied Tony, "your white-faced son is ready to follow."

It must be understood that Tony's language was figurative, for at the time he was speaking his "white" face was changed so much by paint and smoke that it quite equalled that of his adopted father in dirty brownness.

"Meekeye will get ready," continued the Indian. "Our journey shall be towards the rising sun."

The result of this order was that on the following day the Indian's leather tent was taken down, wrapped up into a bundle, and fastened to a couple of poles along with the rest of the family property. One end of each of these poles was fastened to a horse like shafts; the other ends were left to trail on the ground, the load resting between these ends and the steed's tail. It was, as it were, a cart without wheels or body. Meekeye mounted the horse after the fashion of a man.

Petawanaquat and Tony together mounted another steed. Three dogs formed part of the establishment. These were harnessed to little poles like those of the horse, and each dragged a little load proportioned to his size. Thus they left the spur of the Rocky Mountains and travelled over the plains towards Red River settlement.

About the same time, and with the same destination in view, and not far distant from the same region, another party on horseback commenced their journey towards the rising sun.

The two parties ultimately met--but these and other matters we shall reserve for our next chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A TERRIBLE DISASTER AND A JOYFUL MEETING.

We left Ian Macdonald, it will be remembered, far away in the western wilderness, suffering from the wounds received during his memorable and successful combat with a grizzly bear. These wounds were much more serious than had at first been supposed, and, despite the careful nursing of Vic Ravenshaw and Michel Rollin, he grew so weak from loss of blood that it became evident to all of them that they should have to take up their abode in that wild unpeopled spot for a considerable period of time. They therefore planned and built a small log-hut in a wood well stocked with game, and on the margin of a little stream where fish abounded.

At first Victor resolved to ride to the nearest fort of the fur-traders and fetch a doctor, or the means of conveying their wounded friend to a place where better attendance and shelter were to be had, but insurmountable difficulties lay in the way. There were no doctors in the land! The nearest abode of civilised man was several hundred miles distant, and neither he nor Rollin knew the way to any place whatever.

They had depended entirely on Ian as a guide, and now that he was helpless, so were they! It would have been difficult for them even to have found their way back to the Red River Settlement without the aid of the scholastic backwoodsman. They were constrained, therefore, to rest where they were, hoping from day to day that Ian would regain strength sufficient to bear the fatigue of a journey. Thus the winter slowly slipped away, and wild-fowl--the harbingers of spring--were beginning to awake the echoes of the northern woods before Ian felt himself strong enough to commence the journey homewards.

That winter, with all its vicissitudes, hopes, fears, adventures, and pleasures, we must pa.s.s over in absolute silence, and re-introduce our three friends on the evening of a fine spring day, while riding over a sweep of prairie land in the direction of a thick belt of forest.

"The river must be somewhere hereabouts," said Ian, reining up on an eminence, and gazing earnestly round him.

"Vas you ever here before?" asked Rollin.

"Ay, once, but not at this precise spot. I don't quite recognise it. I hope my long illness has not damaged my memory."

"If we don't reach the river soon," said Victor, with something of weariness in his tone, "this poor brute will give in."

Victor referred to his horse, which had been reduced by some unknown disease to skin and bone.