The Buffalo Runners: A Tale of the Red River Plains by R. M. Ballantyne (the best ebook reader for android TXT) 📕

One fine day, when summer had merged into autumn, and things in Red River appeared to be advancing favourably, and Dan Davidson had recovered his strength, and Little Bill was fairly well, it occurred to Okématan that he would like to go to Lake Winnipeg, and see how the settlers who had gone to the fishery there, were getting on.

You see, the Cree chief was an observant savage, and, before returning to his tribe, had made up his mind to see all the phases in the life of the new Palefaces who had thus come to take possession of the land.

He was a remarkably independent fellow, and as he served the Davidsons for nothing except his food—which he did not count, as he could easily have supplied himself with victuals by means of his line, bow, and gun—he did not deem it necessary to ask leave of absence. He merely went to the house one morning, and announced his intention of going to Lake Winnipeg to fish.

“I will go with you,” said Dan, to whom the announcement was made.

“An’ so will I,” said Fred Jenkins, who chanced to be conversing with Dan at the time—“that is, if they can spare me just now.”

“The canoe of Okématan,” said the chief, “holds no more than three. He wishes to take with him Arch-ee and Leetil Bill.”

“Very well,” returned Dan, “there’s no objection to that, for there is not much doing on the farm at this moment, and Archie has worked hard all the summer, so he deserves a holiday. We will just make up the same party that started last time, only that Fergus and I will take a somewhat bigger canoe so as to accommodate you, Jenkins.”

“Thankee. Though I am big—unfort’nitly—I can stow myself away in small compass, an’ I’ve larned how, when there ain’t overmuch grub, to git along fairly well on short allowance. When d’ee trip your anchor?—I mean, when do ye start?”

“When to-morrow’s sun touches the tree-tops in the east,” said the Indian chief.

“All right, Okématan, I’m your man—after layin’ in a breakfast-cargo.”

According to this arrangement the two canoes pushed off at daybreak the following morning, from the wharf at the foot of the garden of Prairie Cottage, and began the descent of the Red River, which, after flowing between twenty and thirty miles northward, enters the mighty bosom of Lake Winnipeg. Okématan and Archie occupied their old places in the stern and bow of the chief’s canoe, with Little Bill in the middle—this time using a paddle, for his strength had greatly increased. The other canoe was steered by Dan; Fergus acted bowman, and Jenkins sat between them, also wielding a paddle.

That night they encamped on the banks of the river, for their progress had been slow, owing to sundry visits which had to be paid to settlers on the way down.

“Well, now,” observed the sailor, as he stood by the camp-fire smoking his pipe contemplatively, “I find that as circumstances change about in this world men’s minds are apt to go ’bout-ship along wi’ them.”

“That sounds a terribly profound speech, Fred,” said Archie, who was busy at his very usual occupation of whittling an arrow for his brother. “Did your father teach it you, or did you crib it from a copy-book?”

“No, I raither think,” retorted the seaman quietly, “that I got it from your grandmother by the father’s side.”

“What may be the circumstance that has caused your mind to go about-ship just now?” asked Dan, stirring the fire under the robbiboo-kettle.

“Well, it’s in regard to them there canoe-paddles. Although they do seem small, compared with oars, I find they’re quite big enough to do the work, and although I’ve bin trained from a youngster to handle the oar, an’ go like a crab with my back the way I’m pullin’, it do seem more sensible-like to sit wi’ one’s face to the front and drive ahead;—anyhow, it’s more comfortable and satisfactory.”

“Look out, Jenkins!” exclaimed Little Bill, “else your duck won’t be satisfactory—it’s burnin’ now.”

“O, never mind,” remarked Fergus, lighting his pipe. “It iss havin’ it well done he would be fond of.”

“Ay, but not over-done,” cried the seaman, snatching the duck in question from before the blaze and turning its other side—for they used no spits in the Nor’-West in those days, but cooked one side at a time—nay, even carved off and ate part of the cooked side while the other side was roasting.

Next day they came out on the ocean-like expanse of the great lake, and steered along its western shores until they reached the fishery, where numbers of rudely-constructed wigwams and a few tents sheltered the fishing community.

They had just returned from a successful visit to the nets when the visitors arrived, and all was animation and rejoicing at the successful take. Jacques Bourassin was the first man they met on landing, and he was enthusiastic about the prospects before them. Slowfoot was the first woman, and she was quite satisfied—in that amiable state of mental and physical felicity in which it is so easy to believe that “all is for the best.” Her husband soon after appeared. He, of course, was also greatly pleased. He had joined the fishers because he believed that plenty of food, tea, and tobacco would be going amongst them. He was not mistaken.

“You will come to my tent,” he said, in the wealth of his hospitality; “we have plenty of good fish, a very little meat, some tobacco, and oceans of tea!”

The six visitors accepted the invitation, and were soon made acquainted with all the gossip of the community.

“Does it always smoke?” whispered Little Bill to his brother.

The “it” referred to was Baby La Certe, which had, as usual, possessed itself of its father’s pipe when the mother was not watching.

“I’m not sure, Little Bill, but I think that it does its best.”

It was observed, especially by Fred Jenkins, that the tea-drinking which went on at this place was something marvellous.

“There’s that squaw sittin’ there,” he said, “she’s bin an’ swigged three pannikins o’ tea while I’ve bin looking at her—an’ it’s as black as ink. What’s that brown stuff they put into it, does any one know?”

“That? Why, it is maple sugar,” answered Archie, “an’ capital stuff it is to eat too.”

“Ah, I know that, for I’ve ate it in lump, but it can’t be so good in tea, I fancy, as or’nary brown or white sugar; but it’s better than fat, anyhow.”

“Fat!” exclaimed Little Bill, “surely you never heard of any one taking fat in tea, did you?”

“Ay, that I did. Men that move about the world see strange things. Far stranger things than people invent out o’ their own brains. Why, there was one tribe that I saw in the East who putt fat in the tea, an’ another putt salt, and after they’d swallowed this queer kind of tea-soup, they divided the leaves among themselves an’ chawed ’em up like baccy.”

The evident delight with which these half-breeds and more than half-Indians swallowed cup after cup of the blackest and bitterest tea, proved beyond question their appreciation of the article, and afforded presumptive evidence at least that tea is not in their case as poisonous as we are taught to believe.

But it was not, as Jenkins remarked, all fair weather, fun, and tea at the fishery. After the six visitors had been there for a week, shooting and assisting in the canoes, and at the nets, there came a night when the forces of Nature declared war against the half-breeds and those settlers who had cast in their lot with them at that time.

Jenkins, Okématan, and Archie had been out with their guns that day—the last having been promoted to the use of the dangerous weapon—and in their wanderings had about nightfall come upon a family of half-breeds named Dobelle, a good-natured set, who lived, like La Certe, on the laissez faire principle; who dwelt in a little log-hut of their own construction within the margin of the forest, not far from the shore of the great lake.

This family, though claiming to be Christian and civilised, was little better than vagrant and savage. They were to some extent as independent as the brute creation around them—though of course they betrayed the inherent weakness of mankind in being unable to exist happily without tea, sugar, and tobacco. For the rest, their wants were few and easily satisfied. Snares provided willow-grouse and rabbits; traps gave them furs and the means of purchasing guns and powder. Their log-hut was only an occasional residence. Wherever night overtook them they were at home. They camped on the open plains, in the woods, among the rocks, and on the margins of rivers and lakes. Healthy, happy, and heedless, the Dobelle family cared for nothing apparently, but the comfort of the passing hour; regarded the past as a convenient magazine from which to draw subjects for gossip and amusement, and left the future to look after itself.

There were in the hut, when the three visitors entered, old Dobelle, his wife, a daughter of eighteen, another of four, and two sons of twenty and twenty-two respectively.

“It looks like dirty weather,” said Jenkins on entering; “will you let us come to an anchor here for a bit?”

“Give us shelter?” explained Archie, who doubted old Dobelle’s ability to understand nautical language.

“You are welcome,” said the half-breed, making way politely, and pointing to places on the floor where the visitors were expected to squat. For there was no furniture in that mansion; the fire was kindled in the middle of its one room; the family sat around it on deer and buffalo skins, and the smoke alike of pipe and fire found egress at the crevices in the roof.

With kind hospitality Madame Dobelle poured some black tea into cups of birch-bark, and, on plates of the same material, spread before them the remains of a feast of roasted fish.

While eating this, various questions were put as to the success of the fishery.

“Yes—we have been very successful,” said old Dobelle. “No bad weather to speak of, and plenty of fish. Our good fortune is great.”

“But it won’t last long,” said the eldest son, who seemed to be the only growler in the family.

“N’importe—we will enjoy it while it lasts,” said the younger son.

“Yes, truly we will,” remarked Madame Dobelle. Whereupon the daughter of eighteen smiled, and the daughter of four giggled.

“What does Okématan think?” asked the host.

Thus appealed to, the chief gave it as his opinion that something was going to happen, for the sky in the nor’-west looked uncommonly black. Having given utterance to this cautious