THE STORM.

Two days after the events of the last chapter, the brigade was making one of the traverses which have already been noticed as of frequent occurrence in the great lakes.  The morning was calm and sultry.  A deep stillness pervaded nature, which tended to produce a corresponding quiescence in the mind, and to fill it with those indescribably solemn feelings that frequently arise before a thunderstorm.  Dark, lurid clouds hung overhead in gigantic masses, piled above each other like the battlements of a dark fortress, from whose ragged embrasures the artillery of heaven was about to play.

“Shall we get over in time, Louis?” asked Mr Park, as he turned to the guide, who sat holding the tiller with a firm grasp; while the men, aware of the necessity of reaching shelter ere the storm burst upon them, were bending to the oars with steady and sustained energy.

“Perhaps,” replied Louis, laconically.-“Pull, lads, pull! else you’ll have to sleep in wet skins to-night.”

A low growl of distant thunder followed the guide’s words, and the men pulled with additional energy; while the slow, measured hiss of the water, and the clank of oars, as they cut swiftly through the lake’s clear surface, alone interrupted the dead silence that ensued.

Charley and his friend conversed in low whispers; for there is a strange power in a thunderstorm, whether raging or about to break, that overawes the heart of man,-as if Nature’s God were nearer then than at other times; as if He-whose voice indeed, if listened to, speaks even in the slightest evolution of natural phenomena-were about to tread the visible earth with more than usual majesty, in the vivid glare of the lightning flash, and in the awful crash of thunder.

“I don’t know how it is, but I feel more like a coward,” said Charley, “just before a thunderstorm than I think I should do in the arms of a polar bear.  Do you feel queer, Harry?”

“A little,” replied Harry, in a low whisper; “and yet I’m not frightened.  I can scarcely tell what I feel, but I’m certain it’s not fear.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Charley.  “When father’s black bull chased Kate and me in the prairies, and almost overtook us as we ran for the fence of the big field, I felt my heart leap to my mouth, and the blood rush to my cheeks, as I turned about and faced him, while Kate climbed the fence; but after she was over, I felt a wild sort of wickedness in me, as if I should like to tantalise and torment him,-and I felt altogether different from what I feel now while I look up at these black clouds.  Isn’t there something quite awful in them, Harry?”

Ere Harry replied, a bright flash of lightning shot athwart the sky, followed by a loud roar of thunder, and in a moment the wind rushed, like a fiend set suddenly free, down upon the boats, tearing up the smooth surface of the water as it flew, and cutting it into gleaming white streaks.  Fortunately the storm came down behind the boats, so that, after the first wild burst was over, they hoisted a small portion of their lug sails, and scudded rapidly before it.

There was still a considerable portion of the traverse to cross, and the guide cast an anxious glance over his shoulder occasionally, as the dark waves began to rise, and their crests were cut into white foam by the increasing gale.  Thunder roared in continued, successive peals, as if the heavens were breaking up, while rain descended in sheets.  For a time the crews continued to ply their oars; but as the wind increased, these were rendered superfluous.  They were taken in, therefore, and the men sought partial shelter under the tarpaulin; while Mr Park and the two boys were covered, excepting their heads, by an oilcloth, which was always kept at hand in rainy weather.

“What think you now, Louis?” said Mr Park, resuming the pipe which the sudden outburst of the storm had caused him to forget.  “Have we seen the worst of it?”

Louis replied abruptly in the negative, and in a few seconds shouted loudly, “Look out, lads! here comes a squall.  Stand by to let go the sheet there!”

Mike Brady, happening to be near the sheet, seized hold of the rope, and prepared to let go; while the men rose, as if by instinct, and gazed anxiously at the approaching squall, which could be seen in the distance extending along the horizon, like a bar of blackest ink, spotted with flakes of white.  The guide sat with compressed lips, and motionless as a statue, guiding the boat as it bounded madly towards the land, which was now not more than half a mile distant.

“Let go!” shouted the guide, in a voice that was heard loud and clear above the roar of the elements.

“Ay, ay,” replied the Irishman, untwisting the rope instantly, as with a sharp hiss the squall descended on the boat.

At that moment the rope became entangled round one of the oars, and the gale burst with all its fury on the distended sail, burying the prow in the waves, which rushed inboard in a black volume, and in an instant half filled the boat.

“Let go!” roared the guide again, in a voice of thunder; while Mike struggled with awkward energy to disentangle the rope.

As he spoke, an Indian, who during the storm had been sitting beside the mast, gazing at the boiling water with a grave, contemplative aspect, sprang quickly forward, drew his knife, and with two blows (so rapidly delivered that they seemed but one) cut asunder first the sheet and then the halyards, which let the sail blow out and fall flat upon the boat.  He was just in time.  Another moment and the gushing water, which curled over the bow, would have filled them to the gunwale.  As it was, the little vessel was so full of water that she lay like a log, while every toss of the waves sent an additional torrent into her.

“Bail for your lives, lads!” cried Mr Park, as he sprang forward, and, seizing a tin dish, began energetically to bail out the water.  Following his example, the whole crew seized whatever came first to hand in the shape of dish or kettle, and began to bail.  Charley and Harry Somerville acted a vigorous part on this occasion-the one with a bark dish (which had been originally made by the natives for the purpose of holding maple-sugar), the other with his cap.

For a time it seemed doubtful whether the curling waves should send most water into the boat, or the crew should bail most out of it.  But the latter soon prevailed, and in a few minutes it was so far got under that three of the men were enabled to leave off bailing and reset the sail, while Louis Peltier returned to his post at the helm.  At first the boat moved but slowly, owing to the weight of water in her; but as this grew gradually less, she increased her speed and neared the land.

“Well done, Redfeather,” said Mr Park, addressing the Indian as he resumed his seat; “your knife did us good service that time, my fine fellow.”

Redfeather, who was the only pure native in the brigade, acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

“Ah, oui,” said the guide, whose features had now lost their stern expression.  “Them Injins are always ready enough with their knives.  It’s not the first time my life has been saved by the knife of a redskin.”

“Humph! bad luck to them,” muttered Mike Brady; “it’s not the first time that my windpipe has been pretty near spiflicated by the knives o’ the redskins, the murtherin’ varmints!”

As Mike gave vent to this malediction, the boat ran swiftly past a low, rocky point, over which the surf was breaking wildly.

“Down with the sail, Mike,” cried the guide, at the same time putting the helm hard up.  The beat flew round, obedient to the ruling power, made one last plunge as it left the rolling surf behind, and slid gently and smoothly into still water under the lee of the point.

Here, in the snug shelter of a little bay, two of the other boats were found, with their prows already on the beach, and their crews actively employed in landing their goods, opening bales that had received damage from the water, and preparing the encampment; while ever and anon they paused a moment, to watch the various boats as they flew before the gale, and one by one doubled the friendly promontory.

If there is one thing that provokes a voyageur more than another, it is being wind-bound on the shores of a large lake.  Rain or sleet, heat or cold, icicles forming on the oars, or a broiling sun glaring in a cloudless sky, the stings of sandflies, or the sharp probes of a million mosquitoes, he will bear with comparative indifference; but being detained by high wind for two, three, or four days together-lying inactively on shore, when everything else, it may be, is favourable:  the sun bright, the sky blue, the air invigorating, and all but the wind propitious-is more than his philosophy can carry him through with equanimity.  He grumbles at it; sometimes makes believe to laugh at it; very often, we are sorry to say, swears at it; does his best to sleep through it; but whatever he does, he does with a bad grace, because he’s in a bad humour, and can’t stand it.

For the next three days this was the fate of our friends.  Part of the time it rained, when the whole party slept as much as was possible, and then endeavoured to sleep more than was possible, under the shelter afforded by the spreading branches of the trees.  Part of the time was fair, with occasional gleams of sunshine, when the men turned out to eat and smoke and gamble round the fires; and the two friends sauntered down to a sheltered place on the shore, sunned themselves in a warm nook among the rocks, while they gazed ruefully at the foaming billows, told endless stories of what they had done in time past, and equally endless prospective adventures that they earnestly hoped should befall them in time to come.

While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie.

“I like that fellow,” said Harry, pointing to the Indian.

“So do I. He’s a sharp, active man.  Had it not been for him we should have had to swim for it.”

“Indeed, had it not been for him I should have had to sink for it,” said Harry, with a smile, “for I can’t swim.”

“Ah, true, I forgot that.  I wonder what the redskin, as the guide calls him, is thinking about,” added Charley, in a musing tone.

“Of home, perhaps, `sweet home,’” said Harry, with a sigh.  “Do you think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?”

Charley did not reply for a few seconds; he seemed to muse over the question.

At last he said slowly-

“Think of home?  I think of little else when I am not talking with you, Harry.  My dear mother is always in my thoughts, and my poor old father.  Home? ay; and darling Kate, too, is at my elbow night and day, with the tears streaming from her eyes, and her ringlets scattered over my shoulder, as I saw her the day we parted, beckoning me back again, or reproaching me for having gone away-God bless her!  Yes, I often, very often, think of home, Harry.”

Harry made no reply.  His friend’s words had directed his thoughts to a very different and far-distant scene-to another Kate, and another father and mother, who lived in a glen far away over the waters of the broad Atlantic.  He thought of them as they used to be when he was one of the number, a unit in the beloved circle, whose absence would have caused a blank there.  He thought of the kind voice that used to read the Word of God, and the tender kiss of his mother as they parted for the night.  He thought of the dreary day when he left them all behind, and sailed away, in the midst of strangers, across the wide ocean to a strange land.  He thought of them now-without him-accustomed to his absence, and forgetful, perhaps, at times that he had once been there.  As he thought of all this a tear rolled down his cheek, and when Charley looked up in his face, that tear-drop told plainly that he too thought sometimes of home.

“Let us ask Redfeather to tell us something about the Indians,” he said at length, rousing himself.  “I have no doubt he has had many adventures in his life.  Shall we, Charley?”

“By all means.-Ho, Redfeather! are you trying to stop the wind by looking it out of countenance?”

The Indian rose, and walked towards the spot where the boys lay.

“What was Redfeather thinking about?” said Charley, adopting the somewhat pompous style of speech occasionally used by Indians.  “Was he thinking of the white swan and his little ones in the prairie; or did he dream of giving his enemies a good licking the next time he meets them?”

“Redfeather has no enemies,” replied the Indian.  “He was thinking of the great Manito, [God] who made the wild winds, and the great lakes, and the forest.”

“And pray, good Redfeather, what did your thoughts tell you?”

“They told me that men are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked; and that Manito is very good and patient to let them live.”

“That is to say,” cried Harry, who was surprised and a little nettled to hear what he called the heads of a sermon from a redskin, “that you, being a man, are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked; and that Manito is very good and patient to let you live?”

“Good,” said the Indian calmly; “that is what I mean.”

“Come, Redfeather,” said Charley, laying his hand on the Indian’s arm, “sit down beside us, and tell us some of your adventures.  I know that you must have had plenty, and it’s quite clear that we’re not to get away from this place all day, so you’ve nothing better to do.”

The Indian readily assented, and began his story in English.

Redfeather was one of the very few Indians who had acquired the power of speaking the English language.  Having been, while a youth, brought much into contact with the fur-traders, and having been induced by them to enter their service for a time, he had picked up enough of English to make himself easily understood.  Being engaged at a later period of life as guide to one of the exploring parties sent out by the British Government to discover the famous North-west Passage, he had learned to read and write, and had become so much accustomed to the habits and occupations of the “palefaces,” that he spent more of his time, in one way or another, with them than in the society of his tribe, which dwelt in the thick woods bordering on one of the great prairies of the interior.  He was about thirty years of age; had a tall, thin, but wiry and powerful frame; and was of a mild, retiring disposition.  His face wore a habitually grave expression, verging towards melancholy; induced, probably, by the vicissitudes of a wild life (in which he had seen much of the rugged side of nature in men and things) acting upon a sensitive heart and a naturally warm temperament.  Redfeather, however, was by no means morose; and when seated along with his Canadian comrades round the camp fire, he listened with evidently genuine interest to their stories, and entered into the spirit of their jests.  But he was always an auditor, and rarely took part in their conversations.  He was frequently consulted by the guide in matters of difficulty, and it was observed that the “redskin’s” opinion always carried much weight with it, although it was seldom given unless asked for.  The men respected him much because he was a hard worker, obliging, and modest-three qualities that ensure respect, whether found under a red skin or a white one.

“I shall tell you,” he began, in a soft, musing tone, as if he were wandering in memories of the past-“I shall tell you how it was that I came by the name of Redfeather.”

“Au!” interrupted Charley, “I intended to ask you about that; you don’t wear one.”

“I did once.  My father was a great warrior in his tribe,” continued the Indian; “and I was but a youth when I got the name.

“My tribe was at war at the time with the Chipewyans, and one of our scouts having come in with the intelligence that a party of our enemies was in the neighbourhood, our warriors armed themselves to go in pursuit of them.  I had been out once before with a war-party, but had not been successful, as the enemy’s scouts gave notice of our approach in time to enable them to escape.  At the time the information was brought to us, the young men of our village were amusing themselves with athletic games, and loud challenges were being given and accepted to wrestle, or race, or swim in the deep water of the river, which flowed calmly past the green bank on which our wigwams stood.  On a bank near to us sat about a dozen of our women-some employed in ornamenting moccasins with coloured porcupine quills; others making rogans of bark for maple sugar, or nursing their young infants; while a few, chiefly the old women, grouped themselves together and kept up an incessant chattering, chiefly with reference to the doings of the young men.

“Apart from these stood three or four of the principal men of our tribe, smoking their pipes, and although apparently engrossed in conversation, still evidently interested in what was going forward on the bank of the river.

“Among the young men assembled there was one of about my own age, who had taken a violent dislike to me because the most beautiful girl in all the village preferred me before him.  His name was Misconna.  He was a hot-tempered, cruel youth; and although I endeavoured as much as possible to keep out of his way, he sought every opportunity of picking a quarrel with me.  I had just been running a race along with several other youths, and although not the winner, I had kept ahead of Misconna all the distance.  He now stood leaning against a tree, burning with rage and disappointment.  I was sorry for this, because I bore him no ill-will, and if it had occurred to me at the time, I would have allowed him to pass me, since I was unable to gain the race at any rate.

“`Dog!’ he said at length, stepping forward and confronting me, `will you wrestle?’

“Just as he approached I had turned round to leave the place.  Not wishing to have more to do with him, I pretended not to hear, and made a step or two towards the lodges. `Dog!’ he cried again, while his eyes flashed fiercely, and he grasped me by the arm, `will you wrestle, or are you afraid?  Has the brave boy’s heart changed into that of a girl?’

“`No, Misconna,’ said I. `You know that I am not afraid; but I have no desire to quarrel with you.’

“`You lie!’ cried he, with a cold sneer,-`you are afraid; and see,’ he added, pointing towards the women with a triumphant smile, `the dark-eyed girl sees it and believes it too!’

“I turned to look, and there I saw Wabisca gazing on me with a look of blank amazement.  I could see, also, that several of the other women, and some of my companions, shared in her surprise.

“With a burst of anger I turned round. `No, Misconna,’ said I, `I am not afraid, as you shall find;’ and springing upon him, I grasped him round the body.  He was nearly, if not quite, as strong a youth as myself; but I was burning with indignation at the insolence of his conduct before so many of the women,-which gave me more than usual energy.  For several minutes we swayed to and fro, each endeavouring in vain to bend the other’s back; but we were too well matched for this, and sought to accomplish our purpose by taking advantage of an unguarded movement.  At last such a movement occurred.  My adversary made a sudden and violent attempt to throw me to the left, hoping that an inequality in the ground would favour his effort.  But he was mistaken.  I had seen the danger, and was prepared for it, so that the instant he attempted it I threw forward my right leg, and thrust him backwards with all my might.  Misconna was quick in his motions.  He saw my intention-too late, indeed, to prevent it altogether, but in time to throw back his left foot and stiffen his body till it felt like a block of stone.  The effort was now entirely one of endurance.  We stood, each with his muscles strained to the utmost, without the slightest motion.  At length I felt my adversary give way a little.  Slight though the motion was, it instantly removed all doubt as to who should go down.  My heart gave a bound of exultation, and with the energy which such a feeling always inspires, I put forth all my strength, threw him heavily over on his back, and fell upon him.

“A shout of applause from my comrades greeted me as I rose and left the ground; but at the same moment the attention of all was taken from myself and the baffled Misconna by the arrival of the scout, bringing us information that a party of Chipewyans were in the neighbourhood.  In a moment all was bustle and preparation.  An Indian war-party is soon got ready.  Forty of our braves threw off the principal parts of their clothing; painted their faces with stripes of vermilion and charcoal; armed themselves with guns, bows, tomahawks, and scalping-knives, and in a few minutes left the camp in silence, and at a quick pace.

“One or two of the youths who had been playing on the river’s bank were permitted to accompany the party, and among these were Misconna and myself.  As we passed a group of women, assembled to see us depart, I observed the girl who had caused so much jealousy between us.  She cast down her eyes as we came up, and as we advanced close to the group she dropped a white feather as if by accident.  Stooping hastily down, I picked it up in passing, and stuck it in an ornamented band that bound my hair.  As we hurried on, I heard two or three old hags laugh, and say, with a sneer, `His hand is as white as the feather:  it has never seen blood.’  The next moment we were hid in the forest, and pursued our rapid course in dead silence.

“The country through which we passed was varied, extending in broken bits of open prairie, and partly covered with thick wood, yet not so thick as to offer any hindrance to our march.  We walked in single file, each treading in his comrade’s footsteps, while the band was headed by the scout who had brought the information.  The principal chief of our tribe came next, and he was followed by the braves according to their age or influence.  Misconna and I brought up the rear.  The sun was just sinking as we left the belt of wood land in which our village stood, crossed over a short plain, descended a dark hollow, at the bottom of which the river flowed, and following its course for a considerable distance, turned off to the right and emerged upon a sweep of prairie-land.  Here the scout halted, and taking the chief and two or three braves aside, entered into earnest consultation with them.

“What they said we could not hear; but as we stood leaning on our guns in the deep shade of the forest, we could observe by their animated gestures that they differed in opinion.  We saw that the scout pointed several times to the moon, which was just rising above the tree-tops, and then to the distant horizon; but the chief shook his head, pointed to the woods, and seemed to be much in doubt, while the whole band watched his motions in deep silence but evident interest.  At length they appeared to agree.  The scout took his place at the head of the line, and we resumed our march, keeping close to the margin of the wood.  It was perhaps three hours after this ere we again halted to hold another consultation.  This time their deliberations were shorter.  In a few seconds our chief himself took the lead, and turned into the woods, through which he guided us to a small fountain which bubbled up at the root of a birch tree, where there was a smooth green spot of level ground.  Here we halted, and prepared to rest for an hour, at the end of which time the moon, which now shone bright and full in the clear sky, would be nearly down, and we could resume our march.  We now sat down in a circle, and taking a hasty mouthful of dried meat, stretched ourselves on the ground with our arms beside us, while our chief kept watch, leaning against the birch tree.  It seemed as if I had scarcely been asleep five minutes when I felt a light touch on my shoulder.  Springing up, I found the whole party already astir, and in a few minutes more we were again hurrying onwards.

“We travelled thus until a faint light in the east told us that the day was at hand, when the scout’s steps became more cautious, and he paused to examine the ground frequently.  At last we came to a place where the ground sank slightly, and at the distance of a hundred yards rose again, forming a low ridge, which was crowned with small bushes.  Here we came to a halt, and were told that our enemies were on the other side of that ridge; that they were about twenty in number, all Chipewyan warriors, with the exception of one paleface-a trapper and his Indian wife.  The scout had learned, while lying like a snake in the grass around their camp, that this man was merely travelling with them on his way to the Rocky Mountains, and that, as they were a war-party, he intended to leave them soon.  On hearing this the warriors gave a grim smile, and our chief, directing the scout to fall behind, cautiously led the way to the top of the ridge.  On reaching it we saw a valley of great extent, dotted with trees and shrubs, and watered by one of the many rivers that flow into the great Saskatchewan.  It was nearly dark, however, and we could only get an indistinct view of the land.  Far ahead of us, on the right bank of the stream, and close to its margin, we saw the faint red light of watch-fires; which caused us some surprise, for watch-fires are never lighted by a war-party so near to an enemy’s country.  So we could only conjecture that they were quite ignorant of our being in that part of the country; which was, indeed, not unlikely, seeing that we had shifted our camp during the summer.

“Our chief now made arrangements for the attack.  We were directed to separate and approach individually as near to the camp as was possible without risk of discovery, and then, taking up an advantageous position, to await our chief’s signal, which was to be the hooting of an owl.  We immediately separated.  My course lay along the banks of the stream, and as I strode rapidly along, listening to its low, solemn murmur, which sounded clear and distinct in the stillness of a calm summer night, I could not help feeling as if it were reproaching me for the bloody work I was hastening to perform.  Then the recollection of what the old woman said of me raised a desperate spirit in my heart.  Remembering the white feather in my head, I grasped my gun and quickened my pace.  As I neared the camp I went into the woods and climbed a low hillock to look out.  I found that it still lay about five hundred yards distant, and that the greater part of the ground between it and the place where I stood was quite flat, and without cover of any kind.  I therefore prepared to creep towards it, although the attempt was likely to be attended with great danger, for Chipewyans have quick ears and sharp eyes.  Observing, however, that the river ran close past the camp, I determined to follow its course as before.  In a few seconds more I came to a dark, narrow gap where the river flowed between broken rocks, overhung by branches, and from which I could obtain a clear view of the camp within fifty yards of me.  Examining the priming of my gun, I sat down on a rock to await the chief’s signal.

“It was evident, from the careless manner in which the fires were placed, that no enemy was supposed to be near.  From my concealment I could plainly distinguish ten or fifteen of the sleeping forms of our enemies, among which the trapper was conspicuous, from his superior bulk, and the reckless way in which his brawny arms were flung on the turf, while his right hand clutched his rifle.  I could not but smile as I thought of the proud boldness of the paleface-lying all exposed to view in the grey light of dawn while an Indian’s rifle was so close at hand.  One Indian kept watch, but he seemed more than half asleep.  I had not sat more than a minute when my observations were interrupted by the cracking of a branch in the bushes near me.  Starting up, I was about to bound into the underwood, when a figure sprang down the bank and rapidly approached me.  My first impulse was to throw forward my gun, but a glance sufficed to show me that it was a woman.

“`Wah!’ I exclaimed, in surprise, as she hurried forward and laid her hand on my shoulder.  She was dressed partly in the costume of the Indians, but wore a shawl on her shoulders and a handkerchief on her head that showed she had been in the settlements; and from the lightness of her skin and hair, I judged at once that she was the trapper’s wife, of whom I had heard the scout speak.

“`Has the light-hair got a medicine-bag, or does she speak with spirits, that she has found me so easily?’

“The girl looked anxiously up in my face as if to read my thoughts, and then said, in a low voice,-`No, I neither carry the medicine-bag nor hold palaver with spirits; but I do think the good Manito must have led me here.  I wandered into the woods because I could not sleep, and I saw you pass.  But tell me,’ she added, with still deeper anxiety, `does the white-feather come alone?  Does he approach friends during the dark hours with a soft step like a fox?’

“Feeling the necessity of detaining her until my comrades should have time to surround the camp, I said:  `The white-feather hunts far from his lands.  He sees Indians whom he does not know, and must approach with a light step.  Perhaps they are enemies.’

“`Do Knisteneux hunt at night, prowling in the bed of a stream?’ said the girl, still regarding me with a keen glance. `Speak truth, stranger,’ (and she started suddenly back); `in a moment I can alarm the camp with a cry, and if your tongue is forked.-But I do not wish to bring enemies upon you, if they are indeed such.  I am not one of them.  My husband and I travel with them for a time.  We do not desire to see blood.  God knows,’ she added in French, which seemed her native tongue, `I have seen enough of that already.’

“As her earnest eyes looked into my face a sudden thought occurred to me. `Go,’ said I, hastily, `tell your husband to leave the camp instantly and meet me here; and see that the Chipewyans do not observe your departure.  Quick! his life and yours may depend on your speed.’

“The girl instantly comprehended my meaning.  In a moment she sprang up the bank; but as she did so the loud report of a gun was heard, followed by a yell, and the war-whoop of the Knisteneux rent the air as they rushed upon the devoted camp, sending arrows and bullets before them.

“On the instant I sprang after the girl and grasped her by the arm. `Stay, white-cheek; it is too late now.  You cannot save your husband, but I think he’ll save himself.  I saw him dive into the bushes like a caribou.  Hide yourself here; perhaps you may escape.’

“The half-breed girl sank on a fallen tree with a deep groan, and clasped her hands convulsively before her eyes, while I bounded over the tree, intending to join my comrades in pursuing the enemy.

“As I did so a shrill cry arose behind me, and looking back, I beheld the trapper’s wife prostrate on the ground, and Misconna standing over her, his spear uplifted, and a fierce frown on his dark face.

“`Hold!’ I cried, rushing back and seizing his arm. `Misconna did not come to kill women.  She is not our enemy.’

“`Does the young wrestler want another wife?’ he said, with a wild laugh, at the same time wrenching his arm from my gripe, and driving his spear through the fleshy part of the woman’s breast and deep into the ground.  A shriek rent the air as he drew it out again to repeat the thrust; but before he could do so, I struck him with the butt of my gun on the head.  Staggering backwards, he fell heavily among the bushes.  At this moment a second whoop rang out, and another of our band sprang from the thicket that surrounded us.  Seeing no one but myself and the bleeding girl, he gave me a short glance of surprise, as if he wondered why I did not finish the work which he evidently supposed I had begun.

“`Wah!’ he exclaimed; and uttering another yell plunged his spear into the woman’s breast, despite my efforts to prevent him-this time with more deadly effect, as the blood spouted from the wound, while she uttered a piercing scream, and twined her arms round my legs as I stood beside her, as if imploring for mercy.  Poor girl!  I saw that she was past my help.  The wound was evidently mortal.  Already the signs of death overspread her features, and I felt that a second blow would be one of mercy; so that when the Indian stooped and passed his long knife through her heart, I made but a feeble effort to prevent it.  Just as the man rose, with the warm blood dripping from his keen blade, the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and the Indian fell dead at my feet, shot through the forehead, while the trapper bounded into the open space, his massive frame quivering, and his sunburned face distorted with rage and horror.  From the other side of the brake six of our band rushed forward and levelled their guns at him.  For one moment the trapper paused to cast a glance at the mangled corpse of his wife, as if to make quite sure that she was dead; and then uttering a howl of despair, he hurled his axe with a giant’s force at the Knisteneux, and disappeared over the precipitous bank of the stream.

“So rapid was the action that the volley which immediately succeeded passed harmlessly over his head, while the Indians dashed forward in pursuit.  At the same instant I myself was felled to the earth.  The axe which the trapper had flung struck a tree in its flight, and as it glanced off the handle gave me a violent blow in passing.  I fell stunned.  As I did so my head alighted on the shoulder of the woman, and the last thing I felt, as my wandering senses forsook me, was her still warm blood flowing over my face and neck.

“While this scene was going on, the yells and screams of the warriors in the camp became fainter and fainter as they pursued and fled through the woods.  The whole band of Chipewyans was entirely routed, with the exception of four who escaped, and the trapper whose flight I have described; all the rest were slain, and their scalps hung at the belts of the victorious Knisteneux warriors, while only one of our party was killed.

“Not more than a few minutes after receiving the blow that stunned me, I recovered, and rising as hastily as my scattered faculties would permit me, I staggered towards the camp, where I heard the shouts of our men as they collected the arms of their enemies.  As I rose, the feather which Wabisca had dropped fell from my brow; and as I picked it up to replace it, I perceived that it was red, being entirely covered with the blood of the half-breed girl.

“The place where Misconna had fallen was vacant as I passed, and I found him standing among his comrades round the camp fires, examining the guns and other articles which they had collected.  He gave me a short glance of deep hatred as I passed, and turned his head hastily away.  A few minutes sufficed to collect the spoils, and so rapidly had everything been done that the light of day was still faint as we silently returned on our track.  We marched in the same order as before, Misconna and I bringing up the rear.  As we passed near the place where the poor woman had been murdered, I felt a strong desire to return to the spot.  I could not very well understand the feeling, but it lay so strong upon me that, when we reached the ridge where we first came in sight of the Chipewyan camp, I fell behind until my companions disappeared in the woods, and then ran swiftly back.  Just as I was about to step beyond the circle of bushes that surrounded the spot, I saw that some one was there before me.  It was a man, and as he advanced into the open space and the light fell on his face, I saw that it was the trapper.  No doubt he had watched us off the ground, and then, when all was safe, returned to bury his wife.  I crouched to watch him.  Stepping slowly up to the body of his murdered wife, he stood beside it with his arms folded on his breast and quite motionless.  His head hung down, for the heart of the white man was heavy, and I could see, as the light increased, that his brows were dark as the thunder-cloud, and the corners of his mouth twitched from a feeling that the Indian scorns to show.  My heart is full of sorrow for him now,” (Redfeather’s voice sank as he spoke); “it was full of sorrow for him even then, when I was taught to think that pity for an enemy was unworthy of a brave.  The trapper stood gazing very long.  His wife was young; he could not leave her yet.  At length a deep groan burst from his heart, as the waters of a great river, long held down, swell up in spring and burst the ice at last.  Groan followed groan as the trapper still stood and pressed his arms on his broad breast, as if to crush the heart within.  At last he slowly knelt beside her, bending more and more over the lifeless form, until he lay extended on the ground beside it, and twining his arms round the neck, he drew the cold cheek close to his, and pressed the blood-covered bosom tighter and tighter, while his form quivered with agony as he gave her a last, long embrace.  Oh!” continued Redfeather, while his brow darkened, and his black eye flashed with an expression of fierceness that his young listeners had never seen before, “may the curse-” He paused.  “God forgive them! how could they know better?

“At length the trapper rose hastily.  The expression of his brow was still the same, but his mouth was altered.  The lips were pressed tightly like those of a brave when led to torture, and there was a fierce activity in his motions as he sprang down the bank and proceeded to dig a hole in the soft earth.  For half an hour he laboured, shovelling away the earth with a large flat stone; and carrying down the body, he buried it there, under the shadow of a willow.  The trapper then shouldered his rifle and hurried away.  On reaching the turn of the stream which shuts the little hollow out from view, he halted suddenly, gave one look into the prairie he was thenceforth to tread alone, one short glance back, and then, raising both arms in the air, looked up into the sky, while he stretched himself to his full height.  Even at that distance I could see the wild glare of his eye and the heaving of his breast.  A moment after, and he was gone.”

“And did you never see him again?” inquired Harry Somerville eagerly.

“No, I never saw him more.  Immediately afterwards I turned to rejoin my companions, whom I soon overtook, and entered our village along with them.  I was regarded as a poor warrior, because I brought home no scalps, and ever afterwards I went by the name of Redfeather in our tribe.”

“But are you still thought a poor warrior?” asked Charley, in some concern, as if he were jealous of the reputation of his new friend.

The Indian smiled.  “No,” he said:  “our village was twice attacked afterwards, and in defending it Redfeather took many scalps.  He was made a chief!”

“Ah!” cried Charley, “I’m glad of that.  And Wabisca, what came of her?  Did Misconna get her?”

“She is my wife,” replied Redfeather.

“Your wife!  Why, I thought I heard the voyageurs call your wife the white swan.”

“Wabisca is white in the language of the Knisteneux.  She is beautiful in form, and my comrades call her the white swan.”

Redfeather said this with an air of gratified pride.  He did not, perhaps, love his wife with more fervour than he would have done had he remained with his tribe; but Redfeather had associated a great deal with the traders, and he had imbibed much of that spirit which prompts “white men” to treat their females with deference and respect-a feeling which is very foreign to an Indian’s bosom.  To do so was, besides, more congenial to his naturally unselfish and affectionate disposition, so that any flattering allusion to his partner was always received by him with immense gratification.

“I’ll pay you a visit some day, Redfeather, if I’m sent to any place within fifty miles of your tribe,” said Charley, with the air of one who had fully made up his mind.

“And Misconna?” asked Harry.

“Misconna is with his tribe,” replied the Indian, and a frown overspread his features as he spoke.  “But Redfeather has been following in the track of his white friends; he has not seen his nation for many moons.”