The Young Fur Traders by R. M. Ballantyne (best pdf ebook reader for android TXT) 📕

miss their mark, although they jumped twice their own length out of the water in the effort.

Ducks and geese sprang from their liquid beds with an amazing amount of unnecessary sputter, as if they had awakened to the sudden consciousness of being late for breakfast, then alighted in the water again with a squash, on finding (probably) that it was too early for that meal, but, observing other flocks passing and repassing on noisy wing, took to flight again, unable, apparently, to restrain their feelings of delight at the freshness of the morning air, the brightness of the rising sun, and the sweet perfume of the dewy verdure, as the mists cleared away over the tree-tops and lost themselves in the blue sky. Everything seemed instinct not only with life, but with a large amount of superabundant energy. Earth, air, sky, animal, vegetable, and mineral, solid, and liquid, all were either actually in a state of lively, exulting motion, or had a peculiarly sprightly look about them, as if nature had just burst out of prison en masse, and gone raving mad with joy.

Such was the delectable state of things the morning on which two canoes darted from the camp of the Knisteneux, amid many expressions of good-will. One canoe contained our two friends, Charley and Jacques; the other, Redfeather and his wife Wabisca.

A few strokes of the paddle shot them out into the stream, which carried them rapidly away from the scene of their late festivities. In five minutes they swept round a point which shut them out from view, and they were swiftly descending those rapid rivers that had cost Charley and Jacques so much labour to ascend.

“Look out for rocks ahead, Mr Charles,” cried Jacques, as he steered the light bark into the middle of a rapid, which they had avoided when ascending by making a portage. “Keep well to the left o’ yon swirl. Parbleu, if we touch the rock there, it’ll be all over with us.”

“All right,” was Charley’s laconic reply. And so it proved, for their canoe, after getting fairly into the run of the rapid, was evidently under the complete command of its expert crew, and darted forward amid the foaming waters like a thing instinct with life. Now it careered and plunged over the waves where the rough bed of the stream made them more than usually turbulent. Anon it flew with increased rapidity through a narrow gap where the compressed water was smooth and black, but deep and powerful, rendering great care necessary to prevent the canoe’s frail sides from being dashed on the rocks. Then it met a curling wave, into which it plunged like an impetuous charger, and was checked for a moment by its own violence. Presently an eddy threw the canoe a little out of its course, disconcerting Charley’s intention of shaving a rock which lay in their track, so that he slightly grazed it in passing.

“Ah, Mr Charles,” said Jacques, shaking his head, “that was not well done; an inch more would have sent us down the rapids like drowned cats.”

“True,” replied Charley, somewhat crestfallen; “but you see the other inch was not lost, so we’re not much the worse for it.”

“Well, after all, it was a ticklish bit, and I should have guessed that your experience was not up to it quite. I’ve seen many a man in my day who wouldn’t ha’ done it half so slick, an’ yet ha’ thought no small beer of himself; so you needn’t be ashamed, Mr Charles. But Wabisca beats you, for all that,” continued the hunter, glancing hastily over his shoulder at Redfeather, who followed closely in their wake, he and his modest-looking wife guiding their little craft through the dangerous passage with the utmost sangfroid and precision.

“We’ve about run them all now,” said Jacques, as they paddled over a sheet of still water which intervened between the rapid they had just descended and another which thundered about a hundred yards in advance.

“I was so engrossed with the one we have just come down,” said Charley, “that I quite forgot this one.”

“Quite right, Mr Charles,” said Jacques, in an approving tone, “quite right. I holds that a man should always attend to what he’s at, an’ to nothin’ else. I’ve lived long in the woods now, and that fact becomes more and more sartin every day. I’ve know’d chaps, now, as timersome as settlement girls, that were always in such a mortal funk about what was to happen, or might happen, that they were never fit for anything that did happen; always lookin’ ahead, and never around them. Of coorse, I don’t mean that a man shouldn’t look ahead at all, but their great mistake was that they looked out too far ahead, and always kep’ their eyes nailed there, just as if they had the fixin’ o’ everything, an’ Providence had nothin’ to do with it at all. I mind a Canadian o’ that sort that travelled in company with me once. We were goin’ just as we are now, Mr Charles, two canoes of us—him and a comrade in one, and me and a comrade in t’other. One night we got to a lot o’ rapids that came one after another for the matter o’ three miles or thereabouts. They were all easy ones, however, except the last; but it was a tickler, with a sharp turn o’ the land that hid it from sight till ye were right into it, with a foamin’ current, and a range o’ ragged rocks that stood straight in front o’ ye, like the teeth of a cross-cut saw. It was easy enough, however, if a man knew it, and was a cool hand. Well, the pauvre Canadian was in a terrible takin’ about this shoot long afore he came to it. He had run it often enough in boats where he was one of a half-dozen men, and had nothin’ to do but look on; but he had never steered down it before. When he came to the top o’ the rapids, his mind was so filled with this shoot that he couldn’t attend to nothin’, and scraped agin’ a dozen rocks in almost smooth water, so that when he got little more than half-way down, the canoe was as rickety as if it had just come off a six months’ cruise. At last we came to the big rapid, and after we’d run down our canoe I climbed the bank to see them do it. Down they came, the poor Canadian white as a sheet, and his comrade, who was brave enough, but knew nothin’ about light craft, not very comfortable. At first he could see nothin’ for the point, but in another moment round they went, end on, for the big rocks. The Canadian gave a great yell when he saw them, and plunged at the paddle till I thought he’d have capsized altogether. They ran it well enough, straight between the rocks (more by good luck than good guidance), and sloped down to the smooth water below; but the canoe had got such a battering in the rapids above, where an Injin baby could have steered it in safety, that the last plunge shook it all to pieces. It opened up, and lay down flat on the water; while the two men fell right through the bottom, screechin’ like mad, and rolling about among shreds o’ birch-bark!”

While Jacques was thus descanting philosophically on his experiences in time past, they had approached the head of the second rapid, and in accordance with the principles just enunciated, the stout backwoodsman gave his undivided attention to the work before him. The rapid was short and deep, so that little care was required in descending it, excepting at one point, where the stream rushed impetuously between two rocks about six yards asunder. Here it was requisite to keep the canoe as much in the middle of the stream as possible.

Just as they began to feel the drag of the water, Redfeather was heard to shout in a loud, warning tone, which caused Jacques and Charley to back their paddles hurriedly.

“What can the Injin mean, I wonder?” said Jacques, in a perplexed tone. “He don’t look like a man that would stop us at the top of a strong rapid for nothin’.”

“It’s too late to do that now, whatever is his reason,” said Charley, as he and his companion struggled in vain to paddle up stream.

“It’s o’ no use, Mr Charles; we must run it now—the current’s too strong to make head against. Besides, I do think the man has only seen a bear, or somethin’ o’ that sort, for I see he’s ashore, and jumpin’ among the bushes like a caribou.”

Saying this, they turned the canoe’s head down stream again, and allowed it to drift, merely retarding its progress a little with the paddles.

Suddenly Jacques uttered a sharp exclamation. “Mon Dieu!” said he, “it’s plain enough now. Look there!”

Jacques pointed as he spoke to the narrows which they were now approaching with tremendous speed, which increased every instant. A heavy tree lay directly across the stream, reaching from rock to rock, and placed in such a way that it was impossible for a canoe to descend without being dashed in pieces against it. This was the more curious that no trees grew in the immediate vicinity, so that this one must have been designedly conveyed there.

“There has been foul work here,” said Jacques, in a deep tone. “We must dive, Mr Charles; there’s no chance any way else, and that’s but a poor one.”

This was true. The rocks on each side rose almost perpendicularly out of the water, so that it was utterly impossible to run ashore, and the only way of escape, as Jacques said, was by diving under the tree—a thing involving great risk, as the stream immediately below was broken by rocks, against which it dashed in foam, and through which the chances of steering one’s way in safety by means of swimming were very slender indeed.

Charley made no reply, but with tightly-compressed lips, and a look of stern resolution on his brow, threw off his coat, and hastily tied his belt tightly round his waist. The canoe was now sweeping forward with lightning speed; in a few minutes it would be dashed to pieces.

At that moment a shout was heard in the woods, and Redfeather darting out, rushed over the ledge of rock on which one end of the tree rested, seized the trunk in his arms, and exerting all his strength, hurled it over into the river. In doing so he stumbled, and ere he could recover himself a branch caught him under the arm as the tree fell over, and dragged him into the boiling stream. This accident was probably the means of saving his life, for just as he fell the loud report of a gun rang through the woods, and a bullet passed through his cap. For a second or two both man and tree were lost in the foam, while the canoe dashed past in safety. The next instant Wabisca passed the narrows in her small craft, and steered for the tree. Redfeather, who had risen and sunk several times, saw her as she passed, and making a violent effort, he caught hold of the gunwale, and was carried down in safety.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Jacques, as the party stood on a rock promontory after the events just narrated: “I would give a dollar to have that fellow’s nose and the sights o’ my rifle in a line at any distance short of two hundred yards.”

“It was Misconna,” said Redfeather. “I did not see him, but there’s not another man in the tribe that could do that.”

“I’m thankful we escaped, Jacques. I never felt so near death before, and had it not been for the timely aid of our friend here, it strikes me that our wild