The Warden of the Plains Part 8

Donald spent the day by the river shooting, and succeeded in bagging a goodly number of ducks, geese and prairie chickens.

In the evening the half-breed guests arrived early to the feast: they had put on their holiday attire and were evidently prepared to enjoy themselves. While the men sat or lounged about and smoked, the women cooked. When at last supper was ready, and the well cooked and tempting dishes were set before them, they were hungry enough to eat with the zest and enjoyment of famished men who had reached a region of plenty after a season of dearth and starvation.

When their appet.i.tes were satisfied, not by any means a speedy performance, the company cleared the floor, and the fiddles being called into requisition, the dance began. Seated on low stools against the wall these musicians lent all their energy to providing both time and tune to further the fun and encourage the dancers. The old people looked on while the younger ones danced, and applauded any especial performance with great appreciation and excitement. When any of the company manifested unusual skill they recounted similar feats of agility which they had witnessed in their early days. The dance continued for several hours, then the guests sat down to a repet.i.tion of the feast of good things. This gave them renewed strength for the dance, which was again indulged in with the same animation as at the beginning.

Donald remarked with surprise the familiarity manifested among the men and women, and the apparent unconcern of the old people at the excessive gaiety of the younger members of the party. The women sat on their lovers' knees when they stopped to rest from the dance, and when his host introduced one of the young girls to Donald, she immediately implanted a kiss on his cheek. It was evidently the etiquette of the half-breed code of manners, and in their eyes no more familiar than the handshake of more reticent races.

The dance showed no sign of abatement as the night reached far into the morning hours, and Donald lay down to rest. He slept soundly, and when he awoke some hours later he thought he must be dreaming, for the sound of music and dancing was still going on. He raised his head and found it was no dream. While many lay around and about him on the floor sleeping, others were still dancing with energy and excitement apparently unabated. The festivities were thus kept up in relays of votaries for a week without any cessation. While the exhausted ones slept those who had s.n.a.t.c.hed a few hours' sleep returned to the dance and the feasting, and not until the last haunch of buffalo had been eaten did the company disperse to their own homes.

No persuasions could induce any of the men to leave while the festivities lasted, and it was not until they were ended and some hours' rest had been taken that Donald secured the services of a Stoney Indian and a half-breed named Baptiste la Roche for the trip to Brisbane.

Donald procured a good supply of pemmican, tea, sugar, flour and a few minor necessaries for their journey, thinking it wiser to take this precaution than to trust to being supplied by the way with the guns of the party. He had no desire to run the risk of starvation or of attracting the notice of hostile Indians.

The party had three pack-horses beside the horses they rode, and these were likely to delay the speed of their journey to Brisbane to some extent.

Jim was loud in his expression of thanks to Donald for staying at his house and taking part in the feast, and many invitations to come again to the village were given him by both the host and his guests.

The whole village population turned out to see the travellers start and to wish them good luck, the cure adding his wishes for Donald's prosperity and safe keeping while crossing the prairie. The cultured priest had enjoyed some hours of conversation with Donald during his stay in the village, and parted with him with regret. There had been mutual esteem and pleasure in their short intercourse, each enjoying the rare opportunity of discussing topics belonging to the more literary, scientific and advanced civilized world.

Pere le Sueur was not an exception in devotion to the cause of missionary effort. In that distant field there were many like him who had received the most cultured training in the Roman Catholic and Protestant faith the universities of Canada, Great Britain or France were able to provide. Separated by many miles from men of their own nation and cla.s.s, dwelling in camps, a.s.sociating with half-breeds, travelling with Indians, teaching school in the lodges, nursing the sick, praying with the dying and counselling the maturer minds of hunters and warriors, these men of talent performed their duties cheered by the consciousness of duty done and the a.s.surance that their toil would receive recognition in due time. They had no expectation of earthly reward; time and all the vanities of the world were to them unreal things, while the spiritual and eternal were esteemed all that were worth striving for in this life. Imbued with this spirit Pere le Sueur was happy in his work and surroundings. Yet though content to dwell among the ignorance, idleness and filth of a half-breed and Indian settlement, he was grateful for every opportunity of hearing and talking of the latest inventions and discoveries made in a world from which he had been absent for eighteen years. Donald never forgot the tale of devotion manifested by the life of the priest of Latona.

His men had set out before him and were some miles on the way before Donald overtook them. Baptiste la Roche, the half-breed, was a fine, handsome fellow, a good hunter and noted marksman. He had been loath to leave Latona so soon after the feast, and it was only by promising a liberal reward that Donald had been able to induce him to accompany him. He could speak French, English, Cree and Blackfoot, and seemed to be perfectly familiar with the idioms of each of these languages. The Indian was also a fair type of his race, the Stoneys, or, as they should be called, the a.s.siniboines,--the name signifying the people who cook their food on hot stones. The tribe is a branch of the Sioux.

Bearspaw was true to those who employed and trusted him, and could be relied upon implicitly to serve their best interests. A man of light build and lithe, quick movements, he was brave and looked upon by his tribe as invincible. As leader of war parties he had never been defeated in battle, nor had he ever turned his back on a foe, and his warriors, animated by his ability and courage as a leader, had followed him to victory in all their skirmishes on the plains.

The three men were well armed; each carried a Winchester rifle, a large knife, a revolver and a belt with cartridges. They were thus prepared for any emergency.

It was late in the afternoon when the party started. They wished to reach a spot in a wood where there was a good camping ground, about twenty miles distant, before night. To accomplish this they had to ride fast, but were not able to make great speed owing to the necessity of attending to the pack-horses. Intent upon reaching their destination and the shelter of the wood before the sun went down, the party rode in silence. It was dusk when they at last drew rein, and after casting a sharp glance around to see that the ground was clear and no trace of enemies visible, they dismounted, loosened the packs, hobbled the horses and made a fire.

Donald lay on his saddle-blanket while Baptiste and Bearspaw bustled about preparing the supper. There was no delay in arranging the table, and seated upon the gra.s.s the tired men ate heartily of the pemmican, slap-jacks and strong black tea.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" said a bronzed-faced man who alighted from his horse as he spoke. He had approached so quietly that the greeting startled Donald, and he laid his hand on his revolver. The Indian's face betrayed no knowledge or surprise, although with the keen hearing of the native he must have known of the stranger's proximity.

"Good evening," replied Donald. "Will you sit down and have some supper with us? We have enough and will be glad to have your company."

"Thank ye, friends. Don't mind if I do. I'm hungry and I never refuse a kindness from a stranger."

"Which way are you travelling?" asked Donald, presently, when the new-comer had shown by the way he devoured the food set before him that he had fasted some time. "You seem to be tired."

"Well, yes, I was gone a good bit, an' I don't exactly know where I'll turn up before I'm done. Ye see, I have not had good luck with my trapping."

"Which way have you been that you have been so unfortunate? Surely the game is not scarce at this time of the year."

"Wall, no, I guess there's lots o' furs, but the Indians haven't been very civil this year, an' when I get ahead some o' the rascals steal my cache, an' then I have to begin all over again. I've been along the foot o' the mountains an' followed an old Stoney trail for a while, but ye see I'm gettin' old an' I guess some o' these days I'll have to pa.s.s in my checks, and then it'll be all over with Jim Carrafell."

The old trapper's appearance did not belie his words, and Donald had not much difficulty in persuading him to join his party.

They sat for some time around the fire, smoking and talking, Donald and Jim Carrafell exchanging experiences, Baptiste and Bearspaw talking in the monologues peculiar to the Indian. When the night fell thick about the camp the men rolled themselves in their blankets, turned their feet to the fire, and with their saddles for pillows were soon asleep. They knew that during the early part of the night no Indian would venture to attack them, yet they slept with hands on their revolvers and guns within reach, so that if molested they were ready to meet the foe.

The sleepers, however, were not disturbed, and at the first break of dawn the Stoney was up and looking to see that the horses were safe.

To cook and eat their breakfast, gather the stuff together and set out occupied little time. Nothing eventful occurred during the day, they met no Indians, saw but few buffalo. An odd timber wolf cast sinister glances at them as they rode past, or occasional coyotes slunk away with drooping tail at their approach, but nothing of more importance broke the monotony of the day's ride. The evening was but a repet.i.tion of the night before.

When they reached the halting place and camped one evening about sixty miles from their destination, Donald learned with consternation that the provisions were exhausted. He had brought what he considered abundance for the trip, even when allowance was made for the addition to their number by the arrival of Jim Carrafell, and he was surprised that the supply should so soon be gone. It was a new experience to Donald, though not an uncommon one in the lives of many travellers with such parties. The half-breed had feasted, eating enough for three men, as if he believed that he should lay in a stock of food that would sustain him for a week.

The Indian, with the instinct of his race, started ahead of the party the next morning to levy supplies from the prairies with his gun, and was successful in shooting enough duck, geese and rabbits to keep them from starving.

It was dark when they rode into the village of Brisbane, but the half-breeds and Indians who formed the princ.i.p.al part of the population were abroad to welcome them.

Donald paid his men and dismissed them, having decided to remain over a few days in the town.

The half-breed went to the house of one of his relatives, where he was received with open arms. There he stayed for a week, enjoying his friend's hospitality, and without giving a thought to his home. Happy and careless, a true son of the soil, he was heedless of anything or anyone while he had enough to eat and drink, and was blessed with a fiddle and a friend.

Bearspaw was of a more dignified nature and appearance. He rode slowly through the village to the lodge where one of his tribe lived, and entered quietly, a.s.sured of a welcome by the native courtesy and hospitality that ever are characteristic of the Indian races. He talked soberly, without any such demonstrative excitement as was noticeable in the demeanor of the half-breed; made inquiry after the welfare of the people and of the changes which had taken place among the families since he left them. When they told him of death in the camp he said nothing, and as they related the successes his people had met with in the hunting expeditions, he was silent. Bearspaw was sympathetic in both their sorrow and joy, but the training of camps had made him, like all the other members of his tribe and race, the master of his emotions.

Then they told him that the messenger of death had come to his own lodge three nights before and stricken down his eldest son, a young lad and the pride of his father's heart; but Bearspaw still sat motionless, uttering no word. It would seem as if they had been speaking of another. Courage died out of their hearts; they had spoken, they now sat silent.

Presently, with no sign of haste, the bereaved father rose from his place in the lodge, and without a word departed. His horse was still fastened to the pole at the entrance of the lodge, but Bearspaw seemed as if he saw him not. His heart bore too heavy a burden to think of aught but his sorrow. Looking neither to the right nor left he strode onward until he reached a dense wood outside the precincts of the village. He thought not of possible danger; his hand was not laid on his knife as it would have been at ordinary times. Why should he go thence? Why leave his friends? Upon what mission is he bent? Wearied with his long journey does he seek rest?

Alas! no. His heart is very heavy with grief, and he must leave the haunts of men to seek relief for his wounded spirit. Converse with the G.o.ds alone can bring peace. Hidden from the eye of men he throws himself upon the ground in an agony of spirit. Hero of a hundred battles, his lodge decked with scalp-locks, the story of his valor written in pictures on the walls--valor that had never been exceeded by any that had been told before--the man who had never been defeated lay p.r.o.ne upon the ground, vanquished by this blow. He shed no tears, uttered no cry, but groaned in the bitterness of his grief. Then on the midnight air the plaintive notes of the wail for the departed fell soft and sad, the coranach of his race, the father wailing for his dead son, calling on his name, repeating it again and again in the curious pathetic monotone peculiar to the Indian.

When the day dawned and the night of grief was pa.s.sed, Bearspaw returned in sadness to his lodge, and the women with dishevelled hair, bare feet and torn and tattered garments, bewailed the dead until the season of mourning was expired.

Life is sad in every clime; to every camp or home death comes. In the midst of peace, prosperity and joy sorrow falls, our loved ones are taken from us, and the world to us seems empty, valueless and of little worth.

Bearspaw never mentioned his son's name; his grief was silent, but his hair grew whiter and deeper furrows marked his brow, telling better than any lamentations how great had been his loss.

CHAPTER III.

Donald Mackton had spent some days in Brisbane, and was preparing to leave and set out again on his travels when he met Peter Daniels. A new acquaintance in the far West was an event of some importance, and worth something in those days. Friends were few and far between, and the chance acquaintance of to-day might be the helpful friend of the morrow.

Peter Daniels was a tall man, of an aristocratic appearance indicative of better days. He was dressed in the usual suit of buckskin, but his jacket was more elaborately ornamented with colored porcupine quills than was common; his pants were made of moose-skin and the leggings worn over them from the knee downward were very handsomely embroidered with beads; his moccasins were also richly worked by the deft hands of an Indian woman. The wide sombrero hat, such as is worn by the Mexican or Montana cowboy, completed his costume. He spoke the pure English of an educated man, yet his face betrayed unmistakable signs of a predilection for strong drink in the past, if not at the present time.

Peter was a rare character. He posed as a literary man among his companions, and expressed his intention of one day writing a history of the country, one that would include an autobiography.

Donald, as we have said, was something of a scholar, and the pleasure of meeting an educated man out in the wilds was sufficient attraction to induce him to prolong his stay in Brisbane. After a short chat in the store, Donald was easily persuaded to pay him a visit in his own house. He found the place an old log building, sadly in need of repair; but this did not seem to trouble its occupant at all. Donald went in and spent several hours in pleasant conversation with his host.

"You have been several years in the country, Mr. Daniels, I understand?" said Donald, presently.

"Well, yes; I have spent about twelve years in this particular district."

"You evidently have been enamored of the people, the climate or the manner of life, that you have remained so long?"

"Well, sir, I can hardly tell you why I have stayed, or what has been the particular attraction. I am hard to please, yet there is something in this country which induces a man to forego many of the benefits of civilization for the free and easy life possible on these western prairies."

"You were not brought up to this kind of life, I can see very well,"

replied Donald.