Читать книгу Wrecked but not Ruined - Robert Michael Ballantyne - Страница 2

The road along which the travellers proceeded was desolate and dreary in the extreme.

Already darkened by clouds and snow-drift, it was rendered still more gloomy by overhanging and snow-laden branches of stunted pines. It was just broad enough to permit the passage of a single vehicle, being a mere woodman’s track, which had been extended beyond the ordinary limits of such tracks, for his personal convenience, by Jonas Bellew, a trapper who dwelt at that part of the coast already mentioned as Boulder Creek. The track followed the windings of a streamlet which was at that time covered with snow, and only distinguishable by the absence of bushes along its course. It turned now to the right, now to the left, as rocks, or mounds, or cliffs presented obstacles. In some places it dived precipitately into a hollow that necessitated careful driving; in others it ran straight up to the brow of a hill at an angle that obliged the travellers not only to get out and walk, but also to aid their panting pony by putting their shoulders to the back of the sleigh. Here and there a level patch occurred over which they trotted briskly, and then down they went again by a steep incline into the bed of an ice-buried stream, to find a similarly steep ascent on the other side. Occasionally, coming to a wall-like cliff surrounded by a tangled and trackless forest, they were forced to seek the shores of the sea, and there, among rocks and ice-drift, pick their way slowly along.

Fortunately this road, just opposite to Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods had commenced their squatting operations, ran along the shore at some distance from the entrance to the creek, so that Redding could pass without encountering the newcomers, whom he was anxious to avoid until the question of the invasion of the Fur Company’s rights was settled.

Despite their utmost efforts, night began to close upon the travellers before they reached Bellew’s shanty in Boulder Creek.

“Take care, Monsieur, there is von portion dangereux here,” said François Le Rue.

“Where?” asked Redding, as he checked the pony a little and looked earnestly ahead.

“Ah! dere!” exclaimed Le Rue.

His remark was needless, for at that moment the sleigh turned over a ledge of rock and pitched its occupants into a snow-drift.

“Killded?” gasped the Canadian, as he emerged from the snow with eyes, ears, and nostrils stuffed full; “no—not quite!”

Satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he turned abruptly to look for his companion, whose motionless legs sticking out of the drift were the only visible portions of his body.

Anxiously and swiftly did François drag his master out, and great was his relief when poor Redding looked at him with a bewildered gaze and demanded to know what had happened!

“Oh! I see, capsized,” he said, rising and pressing his hand to his brow, “I believe I must have hit my head against a stump, for I’ve been slightly stunned. However, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Not hurt, François?”

“No, Monsieur,—not fatever.”

“That’s right, lend a hand to lift the sleigh—hoop! there—jump in.”

Le Rue obeyed. The bear-rug was replaced around them, and the pony, which had stood as quiet as a lamb during the accident, started forward again.

“Voilà! von light,” exclaimed the Canadian.

At that moment they had rounded the corner of a high cliff, and come into view of Boulder Creek. There was just light enough to make the chaotic grandeur of the place visible in a ghostly degree. Great boulders and masses of rock, which had fallen from the neighbouring mountains and cliffs, lay piled about in the creek or gully in wildest confusion. Some of these masses were as large as a small hut, but they were of all sizes as well as shapes. It was a weird scene, and forbidding; nevertheless some human being had seen fit to take up his abode there, as was made apparent by the light referred to by Le Rue.

Picking their way carefully among the boulders, the travellers at last reached a log-hut which was so small, weather-worn, and grey, that, from a short distance, it might have easily been mistaken, even in daylight, for one of the rocks by which it was surrounded.

The door stood wide open, and through it streamed the light of a roaring fire of wood. So powerful was the contrast between the ruddy light and the cold grey scene without, that to the approaching travellers it appeared as if the whole interior of the hut glowed with fervent heat.

In the small doorway stood the figure of a man who was so large as almost to fill up the entrance, and so black, by contrast with the glowing background, that neither feature nor form was distinguishable save his sharp outline. The outline, however, was a remarkably telling one. It told of a broad chest and square shoulders, of massive limbs, and an easy air, and a sturdy attitude, and suggested difficulty in the way of entering that hut without leave asked and obtained.

“Hallo!” exclaimed the outline, in a voice so deep that it must have been unfathomable.

“How d’ee do, Bellew?” cried Reginald Redding, as he drove into the stream of light, pulled up, and sprang from the sleigh.

“Hearty, sir, hearty, thank ’ee,” replied the outline, advancing and becoming a little more visible on the surface as he did so. “Hallo! Le Rue, how are ’ee? Glad to see you both. Step in. A good fire on a coldish night is cheery—ain’t it, Mister Redding?”

“Indeed it is, Bellew, especially when the night happens to be also darkish.”

“Ha! oui,” interposed Le Rue, bustling into the hut with the bear-rug, “it vas so darkish dat ve capsize under de cliff an’ a’most knock de whole affair to smattoms—sleigh, cheval, an’ peepil.”

“I’m glad to see that the ‘peepil’ is all right, however,” said Bellew, glancing at his visitors with what may be called a grave smile; “it might have bin worse, for that’s an ugly corner under the cliff, an’ needs careful drivin’ even in daylight.”

“I’ve not come off quite scatheless, however,” said Redding, rubbing the top of his head tenderly, “for here is a bump that would perplex the whole college of phrenologists.”

“Skin broke, sir?” asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part. “No, all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a phrenologist now, I’d name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir; sit down, Le Rue, an’ look after my kettle while I see to your nag.”

So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.

Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic. He was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly humorous disposition. No one knew where he came from or why he had taken up his abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough fellows who hang on the outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they said, to “pump” him on these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or a deep one, for pumping brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood by shooting, fishing, trapping wild animals for their skins, and, sometimes, by doing what he called “odd jobs” in the settlements.

“Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it,” said Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.

“That seems to be the idea of most men who come here,” replied the trapper, “but it’s not many that favour me with a visit.”

“Ha! vraiment, dat must be true,” interposed the Canadian, “for no body vill com’ here ’xcept them as do want hims legs broke.”

“Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came to this location,” said Jonas, “but such accidents occur chiefly among the Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set.”

“Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh,” retorted Le Rue.

“Perhaps you’re right, an’ mayhap you’re wrong, lad, anyway here is supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an’ go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I’ve not found time yet to make chairs, but it’s wonderful how well a man gets along without such luxuries.”

“Especially when a man sits down to a venison-steak like this,” said the fur-trader, taking the offered seat, while his man sat down on a block of wood set on end, and prepared to prove the truth of the trapper’s assertion in regard to French capacity for food.

“’Taint venison,” said Bellew, assisting his companions to the meat in question, “it’s bear.”

“Indeed? and not bad food for a hungry man,” returned Redding, as he began supper. “Where got you him?”

“Down near Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods are setting up their saw-mill.”

“The McLeods!” exclaimed Redding, looking up suddenly, “have you seen the McLeods?”

“Ay, I’ve bin helpin’ them a bit wi’ the mill. Goin’ down again to-morrow. If this weather holds, the ice must give way soon, and then we’ll be able to push ahead faster.”

The trapper said this quietly and without looking up from the bear-steak with which he was busy, so that Redding’s look of surprise appeared to be lost on him. The fur-trader and his man exchanged glances.

For a few minutes the process of mastication completely engrossed the trio, but the thoughts of the fur-trader were busy, for he was disappointed to find that one whom he respected so much as Jonas Bellew should thus coolly state that he was aiding the interlopers.

Presently he laid down his knife and fork, and said:—

“Are you aware, Bellew, that these McLeods have settled themselves on the Company’s reserve lands?”

“No, sir, I wasn’t aware of it.”

“Well, then, I now tell you that they have,” said Redding, who, unfortunately for himself and others, possessed an easily-roused spirit and was apt to become irascible when the rights—real or supposed—of the Company which he represented appeared in danger of violation. “At least,” he continued, in a less positive tone, “I have reason to believe that such is the case, and I am now on my way to—”

He paused abruptly, feeling the impropriety of revealing his plans to one who, although a quiet and sensible man, and not given to talk too much, was, nevertheless, by his own admission, an aider and abettor of the enemy.

“Whereabouts is the boundary line?” asked Bellew, after a short silence.

“At Jenkins Creek—that creek is the boundary,” answered the fur-trader. “On which side of the creek have they begun to build the mill?”

“They haven’t begun yet, sir, but I believe they intend to commence on the south side.”

“So far well,” replied Redding, “but if I find that they have raised a stone or planted a stake on the north side of the creek, I’ll—”

Here feeling that he was about to give way to a boastful spirit, he got himself out of the difficulty of having to finish the sentence by making a sudden and somewhat stern demand for “more bear-steak.”

“Vid pleasieur, Monsieur,” said Le Rue, placing a huge slice on his master’s plate.

“Well, sir, I hope you’ll find that they haven’t overstepped the boundary,” said Bellew, “because the McLeods look as if they’d be troublesome customers to deal with.”

The fur-trader made no reply. He felt indignant at the bare idea of his being checked in doing his duty by any man, or men, who were “troublesome,” by which expression he understood Bellew to mean that they were resolute and physically powerful in opposition; he therefore thought it best to avoid any further tendency to boast by holding his tongue.

Not so his volatile retainer, who stuck his fork into a lump of meat vindictively, as if it had been the body of a McLeod, and exclaimed:—

“Hah! vat you say? troblesom, eh? who care for dat? If de Macklodds do touche, by von small hinch, de lands of de Companie—ve vill—hah!”

Another stab of the fork was all that the savage Le Rue vouchsafed as an explanation of his intentions.

In this frame of mind Reginald Redding and his man started off next morning on foot at an early hour, slept that night at a place called Sam’s hut, and, the following evening, drew near to the end of their journey.