Читать книгу The Young Nor'-Wester - James Macdonald Oxley - Страница 6

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Archie had no lack of playmates at the fort. Although his father was the only one of the officials that had yet taken to himself a wife, many of the employees were married, and, as a rule, their partners were Indian women who had been purchased, not wooed. The children of these mixed marriages swarmed about the place in all stages of growth, from innocent little papooses done up tightly in their bark cradles to well-grown boys as full of mischief as eggs are full of meat.

Over these tawny companions Archie held unquestioned sway, not merely because he was the factor’s son, but because he had fought his way to leadership by sheer force of fists. As already told, he was of a proud, ambitious, impetuous nature, that brooked no authority save that which he was in duty bound to recognise. Had he been asked to choose a motto for himself, and been familiar with classical literature, his choice would certainly have been, Aut Cæsar aut nullus, which, put into plain English, means, ‘I’ll be boss or nothing.’

Being gifted with more than usual powers both of mind and body, Archie, once his supremacy was clearly established, had little difficulty in maintaining it, and very proud was he of the small army of boys that obeyed his orders as implicitly as their fathers did the commands of Mr. M’Kenzie.

There was no limit to the fun they had.

In summer the noble lake was always ready for races in canoes or exciting swimming matches, while the broad level stretch at the other side of the fort made a fine ground upon which to play the game of Crosse, out of which the modern game of Lacrosse has been developed. Then in winter-time came the snow-shoeing away across the plains and back to the fort, the tobogganing down the steep shores of the lake and out upon its ice-clad bosom, and the setting of snares for the foxes, minks, martens, and other furry creatures that they were now and then lucky enough to take captive.

One fine cool autumn afternoon, the boys were having a grand time of it playing Crosse on a piece of clear ground about midway between the two forts, when a fleet-footed youngster, seeing that his side was getting much the worst of it, picked up the ball in his crosse and ran off with it at the top of his speed in the direction of Fort Wedderburne. As soon as the others understood his trick, both sides joined in the chase, yelling with all their might, while they did their best to run him down.

On they sped towards the fort, the little rascal who was running off with the ball intending to make belief to seek refuge there, because he knew well enough it was not likely any of the others would dare to follow him. Too absorbed in their play to notice anything else, they swept round a rise in the ground, and suddenly were brought face to face with Mr. M’Dougal, who had just issued forth from the fort mounted upon a young horse whose education to the saddle had not yet been completed. The unexpected and startling appearance of this horde of yelling young savages, as might be expected, proved altogether too much for the nerves of the half-broken animal, and with a wild spring to one side, he pitched the surprised factor clean over his head, and galloped off, leaving him sprawling upon the ground.

A good deal shaken up, but not otherwise the worse for his tumble, Mr. M’Dougal scrambled to his feet and looked about him, to find a score of boys grinning from ear to ear at his discomfiture. He was furious enough because of his fall, but this adding of insult to injury, as it seemed to him, drove him frantic. He held in his hand a stout riding-whip of twisted raw hide, and brandishing this, he rushed upon the boy nearest him, roaring out—

‘You little scoundrels, I’ll teach you not to frighten my horse again!’

He looked dreadful in his raging wrath, and the boys shrank from him appalled, their merry shouts giving way to cries of terror. But happily they were all too agile for him to get within striking distance, and he would have wasted his fury upon the empty air had not one of the smallest of the lads, in his eagerness to escape, tripped and twisted his ankle, and in a moment the factor was upon him.

The poor little fellow looked up pleadingly into the big man’s face, his tawny cheeks made pallid with fright, and only one with the instincts of a brute could have struck him as he cowered on the ground. But Miles M’Dougal was a brute, and, moreover, he was beside himself with passion. With the full strength of his arm he struck the lad a blow across the back that brought out a piercing scream of anguish, and the cruel whip was again raised to strike when a clear young voice cried out indignantly—

‘You coward! you brute! Don’t strike that boy again.’

Astounded at being thus addressed, Mr. M’Dougal let his hand drop as he turned to see who had spoken. It was Archie, who, with face aflame and blazing eyes, stood not ten yards distant, full of a wild desire to fling himself at the factor’s throat, for the prostrate boy was little Sautloulai (Sunshine), the youngest son of old Akaitchko, and dear to Archie, not only for his father’s sake, but because he was the brightest, best-natured boy at the fort.

On seeing who it was, the factor gave a fierce snort of contempt.

‘Coward and brute, eh? Just wait until I’m done with this chap, and then I’ll give you your turn,’ he growled, and had once more lifted his whip when Archie’s crosse, hurled with all the boy’s might, and with admirable aim, struck his arm just at the elbow, and chancing to hit the funny-bone, caused the whip to drop from his paralysed grasp. Roaring out an awful oath, the factor paused for a moment to rub his injured member. Then, regaining the whip, and forgetting all about little Sautloulai in his unbounded rage at Archie, he rushed after the latter like a maddened bull.

But he might as well have chased a will-o’-the-wisp. In all his life he had never known a day when he could run as fast as Archie, and now that he was verging towards middle age, and as stout as his active mode of life would suffer him to become, Archie could have given him twenty yards in a hundred and beaten him easily. Laughing gleefully at the success of his interference in his playmate’s behalf, and at the idea of Mr. M’Dougal imagining he could catch him, Archie bounded off lightly, his pursuer toiling laboriously after him, until they came within a hundred yards of Fort Chipewyan, when the factor, being by that time completely winded, decided to give up the chase, and, shaking his whip after the fleet-footed boy, panted out—

‘You little wretch, I’ll punish you well for this yet, as sure as my name’s M’Dougal!’

Then, turning about, he went in search of his runaway steed.

In the meantime, the rest of the boys had fled to cover, and when Mr. M’Dougal finally disappeared, made their way back to the fort, well pleased at having got off so well. As for poor little Sunshine, who had not only a sore ankle but a bruised back to endure, he received so much sympathy and attention, particularly from Archie, that he hardly regretted his sufferings.

When Mr. M’Kenzie heard of what had occurred, he could not help enjoying a hearty laugh at the ridiculous light in which it presented his rival, and he praised Archie warmly for the manly part he had taken. But when the laugh was over, his face grew grave again as he said—

‘It’s all well enough to laugh, Archie, and I certainly don’t blame you, my boy, for what you did. But at the same time I should be very glad if this had not happened. M’Dougal is your enemy as well as mine now, and he won’t lose a chance to do either of us an ill turn. Keep well clear of him, Archie lad, and of all belonging to him.’

The factor not only spoke the truth, but uttered a prophecy in these words. Mr. M’Dougal would not indeed lose a chance of doing either of them ill. To the animosity he felt towards Mr. M’Kenzie, just because he was his rival, had been added a sense of personal injury and indignity that filled him with a consuming thirst for revenge, which nothing but revenge, sweet and full, would ever appease. But Archie did not know this, and having promised his father to keep well out of Mr. M’Dougal’s way, he thought little more about the matter as the hot summer cooled into autumn and the chill days drew near.

In spite of all the efforts at interference from the Hudson Bays, the Nor’-Westers, by dint of ceaseless vigilance and skilful bartering, secured a rich return of peltries as usual, and it was with no small sense of relief that their chief regarded the approach of winter, when the Indians would all have returned to their homes, if such they might be called, and there would be no more need of watching for them night and day lest they should fall into the hands of his rival.

He was glad, too, when it was no longer necessary for him to be in the saddle or the canoe day after day, or absent from the fort for a week at a time, for he loved his little home circle, and found his greatest happiness in gathering wife and son and daughter about him, and relating the events of his last journey, or reading to them from one of his books.

Nor was he alone in his gladness. His good wife Virginie, now showing a becoming degree of matronly plumpness, and Rose-Marie, fast growing into bewitching maidenhood, welcomed no less eagerly the season that kept the men much at home, for then the one had her Donald and the other her Archie, and neither the one nor the other had yet found more engaging society.

The getting ready for the long, dreary winter was a serious business at such a large establishment as Fort Chipewyan. Immense stocks of pemmican had to be prepared, uncounted white-fish dried and stacked away, the precious stores of flour, tea, and tobacco brought up from below, hundreds of cords of wood drawn from the forests and piled along inside the palisade, and the various buildings carefully gone over, that not a chink might be left through which the prying winter winds, always on the lookout for an opening, could make their way.

Archie had not much time for idling in these busy days. He acted as a sort of aide-de-camp to his father, and it was ‘Archie, jump on Spot and ride over to where they’re cutting the wood, and tell Mr. Wentzel I want to speak to him;’ or, ‘Archie, just run down to the lake and see if the canoes are back from the fishing-grounds;’ and so forth and so forth. Sometimes Archie felt quite proud of being so useful. Sometimes he thought it a bit of a bore, and perhaps just when he was needed most would take it into his head to make himself scarce, so that the factor would have to press one of the Indian lads into service instead.

‘You are a queer chap, Archie,’ his father would say to him, when the boy would return after one of these sudden disappearances. ‘I’m afraid I don’t half understand you yet. But I’m not going to worry about it. You’re sound enough at the core, and I can trust you to come out straight enough in the end.’

It was just by putting this implicit trust in his son that the factor showed his far-seeing wisdom. A parent with less penetration would probably have sought to curb and check the boy’s impetuous, wayward spirit, with the result of making him either sullen or deceitful, or both. But the shrewd Scotchman’s idea, as expressed in his own words, was—

‘Give the laddie his head. Don’t worry him. Many a good horse has been spoiled in the breaking.’

The natural result of this method of dealing was that the most delightful understanding existed between father and son, and when under stress of temptation Archie would now and then manifest an unruly spirit, no sooner did he recover his balance than he at once sought his father’s forgiveness, and that granted, promptly forgot all about the matter in his joy at being restored to favour.

While the winter preparations were still in progress, an incident occurred which, although not thought of much importance at the time, proved to have a deep significance when reviewed in the light of subsequent events.

Late one afternoon, old Akaitchko, who had been out upon the plains in quest of deer, came hurrying back to the fort, evidently in a state of considerable excitement. He would speak to nobody until he found Mr. M’Kenzie, and when he reported to him what he had seen, the latter showed that the communication interested him deeply. It was to the effect that, while about ten miles off, to the north, the old Indian had perceived the approach of a band of Indians.

Now it was not usual for Indians to visit the fort in numbers late in the autumn. They were at that time too busy securing their winter supply of buffalo meat and white-fish. Consequently, Akaitchko’s suspicions were aroused by the appearance of this large body, and he had contrived to inspect them carefully without allowing himself to be seen. His surprise was increased when he made out that they belonged to none of the tribes which came regularly to the fort, and he was of opinion that they must belong to the tribe known as the Quarrellers, whose territory lay along the far northern banks of the M’Kenzie River, and concerning whom all sorts of blood-curdling stories had circulated southward. They were known to wage unceasing war with the Eskimo of the Arctic regions, and were credited with eating their enemies as fast as they killed them. They were given to the practice of strange and horrible rites, had no respect for the law of ownership, stealing whatever they could lay their hands upon, and were altogether regarded as the blackest of black sheep by the other tribes.

What possible object they might have in venturing so far south was a question that could not be answered too soon. The factor, accordingly, although darkness was at hand, mounted his horse, and rode out to meet them. He had not gone far, however, when he was met by three of the strangers, who had evidently been sent on ahead as ambassadors, while the main body awaited their report. He then learned that Akaitchko’s supposition was correct, and that they were of the Quarrellers tribe, and had come down for purposes of trade. He was enabled to hold communication with them by means of a Beaver Indian from Great Slave Lake whom they had brought along as interpreter, he being sufficiently familiar both with their dialect and with the Chipewyan, which was in use at the fort.

Being anxious to obtain the fullest possible information about these new-comers, the factor greeted them cordially, and invited all three to return to the fort with him. After some discussion amongst themselves, the Beaver Indian and one of the others accepted, the third Indian returning to his people.

A bountiful meal of the best the fort could provide was placed before the guests, and when they had eaten as only hungry Indians can eat, and filled their pipes to overflowing from their host’s tobacco-pouch, the factor proceeded to inquire into the object they had in making so lengthy and unusual a journey.

The Quarreller at first did not seem inclined to be communicative, and sat puffing away with the contented air of one who had dined well; but the Beaver Indian was full of talk, and from him Mr. M’Kenzie learned that the main purpose of their coming was not barter, although they had many packs of valuable furs, but to obtain a number of muskets, accounts of whose terrible death-dealing powers had reached even their remote region. Their hereditary foes, the Eskimo, had been getting rather the better of them of late, and determining to utterly wipe them out, they sought the assistance of the white man’s ‘thunder-arrow,’ for so they described the musket.

When they were gone, the factor had a long talk over the matter with his wife and son and Mr. Wentzel. It was as fixed a principle with him to refuse the Indians firearms as firewater.

‘My reason’s clear enough,’ he argued. ‘Let the Indians have all the guns they want, and it’ll be the story of the Kilkenny cats over again. Besides that, the beaver and buffalo will go fast enough as it is. There’s no need to hurry them with bullets If every Indian carried a gun, they’d soon make furs so scarce that we might as well go out of the business. No, sir; so long as I can have my own way, not a pound of gunpowder nor gallon of brandy shall they ever get at Fort Chipewyan.’

Mrs. M’Kenzie looked admiringly into her husband’s face as he spoke, for she knew well what sad work both firearms and firewater had wrought among the red men in the South, and she had always strongly supported him in his views.

Archie, who had been gazing thoughtfully into the fire, as soon as the factor finished turned to him and asked—

‘But, father, won’t Mr. M’Dougal give the Indians what they want, and might we not just as well get their furs, since we have the first chance?’

To which question Mr. Wentzel, who did not altogether share his chiefs opinion, gave an approving nod.

Mr. M’Kenzie, assuming an expression of shocked surprise, exclaimed, with a dramatic gesture—

‘Would my boy Archie tempt me like that? Get thee behind me, Satan.’

Archie reddened up to the roots of his hair, and tried to stammer out something in his own defence; while his mother, seeing his confusion, hastened to his rescue.

‘I don’t think Archie means to tempt you, Donald,’ said she gently. ‘He only spoke what was in his mind, and what, I confess, was in my mind too, although of course I don’t think it’s a good argument.’

The factor laughed pleasantly, and clapped Archie on the shoulder.

‘You only spoke the wisdom of the world, laddie, and I’m not blaming you. But look here, my son: if you knew that the guns these Quarrellers want would be used to slaughter poor Eskimo, who had nothing better than arrows and spears of bone, would you take much satisfaction in supplying them?’

‘No, indeed,’ cried Archie promptly. ‘I was not thinking of that when I said what I did.’

The end of it was that, refusing to do any business with Mr. M’Kenzie unless he would let them have the guns and ammunition, the Quarrellers took themselves and their furs over to his rival, whose emissaries had been amongst them from the first. There they remained for a fortnight, which was little better than a prolonged boissons or ‘drinking match,’ Mr. M’Dougal, for reasons which will subsequently appear, seeing fit to supply them not only with the firearms, but with as much brandy as they could drink, with the result that no less than five murders were committed, for all of which the new weapons that Mr. M’Kenzie had so wisely refused them were responsible.

Mr. M’Kenzie gave orders that none of his people should have anything to do with them, and awaited with some impatience their departure.

There had come to Athabasca the last spell of mild weather ere the stern grasp of winter finally closed upon the land, and Archie, who was passionately fond of hunting, taking little Sautloulai as his companion, went after partridge in the forest that began about a mile from the fort and stretched away interminably northward. On his way thither he encountered Mr. M’Dougal, returning to Fort Wedderburne from a similar errand, and afterwards he remembered the peculiar look which came into the factor’s face, a look of vindictive triumph, which seemed to say, ‘I see my chance to get even with you now.’

But he soon forgot about the meeting in the excitement of partridge-shooting, and indeed forgot about the flight of time also, so that his companion, who was acting the part of retriever for him, and consequently not enjoying the sport as much as the one that did the shooting, had to remind him more than once that the sun had set, ere he bethought himself of turning his face homeward.

He divided the birds, of which there were a round dozen, into two lots, and giving Sautloulai one, was just about to sling the other upon his shoulder, when suddenly four Indians, who had crept up unseen, flung themselves upon the boys, and before they could utter a cry or make a movement to escape, had bound and gagged them, and were bearing them off rapidly into the fast-darkening depths of the forest.