Twice Bought Part 27

"Well, Drake," said Bevan, after the first greetings were over, "all right at the camp down there?"

"All well," he replied, "and the Leaping Buck quite recovered."

He cast a quiet glance at the Indian chief as he spoke, for the Leaping Buck was Unaco's little son, who had been ailing when his father left his village a few weeks before.

"No sign o' gold-seekers yet?" asked Paul.

"None--'cept one lot that ranged about the hills for a few days, but they seemed to know nothin'. Sartinly they found nothin', an' went away disgusted."

The trapper indulged in a quiet chuckle as he said this.

"What are ye larfin' at?" asked Paul.

"At the gold-seekers," replied Drake.

"What was the matter wi' 'em," asked Tolly.

"Not much, lad, only they was blind, and also ill of a strong appet.i.te."

"Ye was always fond o' speakin' in riddles," said Paul. "What d'ye mean, Mahoghany!"

"I mean that though there ain't much gold in these hills, maybe, what little there is the seekers couldn't see, though they was walkin' over it, an' they was so blind they couldn't hit what they fired at, so their appet.i.tes was stronger than was comfortable. I do believe they'd have starved if I hadn't killed a buck for them."

During this conversation Paddy Flinders had been listening attentively and in silence. He now sidled up to Tom Brixton, who, although bestriding Tolly's pony, seemed ill able to travel.

"D'ye hear what the trapper says, Muster Brixton?"

"Yes, Paddy, what then?"

"Och! I only thought to cheer you up a bit by p'intin' out that he says there's goold hereabouts."

"I'm glad for your sake and Fred's," returned Tom, with a faint smile, "but it matters little to me; I feel that my days are numbered."

"Ah then, sor, don't spake like that," returned Flinders, with a woebegone expression on his countenance. "Sure, it's in the dumps ye are, an' no occasion for that same. Isn't Miss--"

The Irishman paused. He had it in his heart to say, "Isn't Miss Betty smilin' on ye like one o'clock?" but, never yet having ventured even a hint on that subject to Tom, an innate feeling of delicacy restrained him. As the chief who led the party gave the signal to move on at that moment it was unnecessary for him to finish the sentence.

The Indian village, which was merely a cl.u.s.ter of tents made of deerskins stretched on poles, was now plainly visible from the commanding ridge along which the party travelled. It occupied a piece of green level land on the margin of the lake before referred to, and, with its background of crag and woodland and its distance of jagged purple hills, formed as lovely a prospect as the eye of man could dwell upon.

The distance of the party from it rendered every sound that floated towards them soft and musical. Even the barking of the dogs and the shouting of the little Redskins at play came up to them in a mellow, almost peaceful, tone. To the right of the village lay a swamp, from out of which arose the sweet and plaintive cries of innumerable gulls, plovers, and other wild-fowl, mingled with the trumpeting of geese and the quacking of ducks, many of which were flying to and fro over the gla.s.sy lake, while others were indulging in aquatic gambols among the reeds and sedges.

After they had descended the hill-side by a zigzag path, and reached the plain below, they obtained a nearer view of the eminently joyful scene, the sound of the wild-fowl became more shrill, and the laughter of the children more boisterous. A number of the latter who had observed the approaching party were seen hurrying towards them with eager haste, led by a little lad, who bounded and leaped as if wild with excitement.

This was Unaco's little son, Leaping Buck, who had recognised the well-known figure of his sire a long way off, and ran to meet him.

On reaching him the boy sprang like an antelope into his father's arms and seized him round the neck, while others crowded round the gaunt trapper and grasped his hands and legs affectionately. A few of the older boys and girls stood still somewhat shyly, and gazed in silence at the strangers, especially at Betty, whom they evidently regarded as a superior order of being--perhaps an angel--in which opinion they were undoubtedly backed by Tom Buxton.

After embracing his father, Leaping Buck recognised Paul Bevan as the man who had been so kind to him and his brother Oswego at the time when the latter got his death-fall over the precipice. With a shout of joyful surprise he ran to him, and, we need scarcely add, was warmly received by the kindly backwoodsman.

"I cannot help thinking," remarked Betty to Tom, as they gazed on the pleasant meeting, "that G.o.d must have some way of revealing the Spirit of Jesus to these Indians that we Christians know not of."

"It is strange," replied Tom, "that the same thought has occurred to me more than once of late, when observing the character and listening to the sentiments of Unaco. And I have also been puzzled with this thought--if G.o.d has some method of revealing Christ to the heathen that we know not of, why are Christians so anxious to send the Gospel to the heathen?"

"That thought has never occurred to me," replied Betty, "because our reason for going forth to preach the Gospel to the heathen is the simple one that G.o.d commands us to do so. Yet it seems to me quite consistent with that command that G.o.d may have other ways and methods of making His truth known to men, but this being a mere speculation does not free us from our simple duty."

"You are right. Perhaps I am too fond of reasoning and speculating,"

answered Tom.

"Nay, that you are not" rejoined the girl, quickly; "it seems to me that to reason and speculate is an important part of the duty of man, and cannot but be right, so long as it does not lead to disobedience. `Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind,' is our t.i.tle from G.o.d to _think_ fully and freely; but `Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature,' is a command so plain and peremptory that it does not admit of speculative objection."

"Why, Betty, I had no idea you were such a reasoner!" said Tom, with a look of surprise. "Surely it is not your father who has taught you to think thus?"

"I have had no teacher, at least of late years, but the Bible," replied the girl, blus.h.i.+ng deeply at having been led to speak so freely on a subject about which she was usually reticent. "But see," she added hastily, giving a shake to the reins of her horse, "we have been left behind. The chief has already reached his village. Let us push on."

The obstinate horse went off at an accommodating amble under the sweet sway of gentleness, while the obedient pony followed at a brisk trot which nearly shook all the little strength that Tom Brixton possessed out of his wasted frame.

The manner in which Unaco was received by the people of his tribe, young and old, showed clearly that he was well beloved by them; and the hospitality with which the visitors were welcomed was intensified when it was made known that Paul Bevan was the man who had shown kindness to their chief's son Oswego in his last hours. Indeed, the influence which an Indian chief can have on the manners and habits of his people was well exemplified by this small and isolated tribe, for there was among them a pervading tone of contentment and goodwill, which was one of Unaco's most obvious characteristics. Truthfulness, also, and justice were more or less manifested by them. Even the children seemed to be free from disputation; for, although there were of course differences of opinion during games, these differences were usually settled without quarrelling, and the noise, of which there was abundance, was the result of gleeful shouts or merry laughter. They seemed, in short, to be a happy community, the various members of which had leaned--to a large extent from their chief--"how good a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity."

A tent was provided for Bevan, Flinders, and Tolly Trevor near to the wigwam of Unaco, with a separate little one for the special use of the Rose of Oregon. Not far from these another tent was erected for Fred and his invalid friend Tom Brixton. As for Mahoghany Drake, that lanky, lantern-jawed individual encamped under a neighbouring pine-tree in quiet contempt of any more luxurious covering.

But, although the solitary wanderer of the western wilderness thus elected to encamp by himself, he was by no means permitted to enjoy privacy, for during the whole evening and greater part of that night his campfire was surrounded by an admiring crowd of boys, and not a few girls, who listened in open-eyed-and-mouthed attention to his thrilling tales of adventure, giving vent now and then to a "waugh!" or a "ho!" of surprise at some telling point in the narrative, or letting fly sudden volleys of laughter at some humorous incident, to the amazement, no doubt of the neighbouring bucks and bears and wild-fowl.

"Tom," said Fred that night, as he sat by the couch of his friend, "we shall have to stay here some weeks, I suspect until you get strong enough to travel, and, to say truth, the prospect is a pleasant as well as an unexpected one, for we have fallen amongst amiable natives."

"True, Fred. Nevertheless I shall leave the moment my strength permits--that is, if health be restored to me--and I shall go off by myself."

"Why, Tom, what do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say. Dear Fred," answered the sick man, feebly grasping his friend's hand, "I feel that it is my duty to get away from all who have ever known me, and begin a new career of honesty, G.o.d permitting. I will not remain with the character of a thief stamped upon me, to be a drag round your neck, and I have made up my mind no longer to persecute dear Betty Bevan with the offer of a dishonest and dishonoured hand. In my insolent folly I had once thought her somewhat below me in station. I now know that she is far, far above me in every way, and also beyond me."

"Tom, my dear boy," returned Fred, earnestly, "you are getting weak. It is evident that they have delayed supper too long. Try to sleep now, and I'll go and see why Tolly has not brought it."

So saying, Fred Westly left the tent and went off in quest of his little friend.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Little Tolly Trevor and Leaping Buck--being about the same age, and having similar tastes and propensities, though very unlike each other in temperament--soon became fast friends, and they both regarded Mahoghany Drake, the trapper, with almost idolatrous affection.

"Would you care to come wi' me to-day, Tolly? I'm goin' to look for some meat on the heights."

It was thus that Drake announced his intention to go a-hunting one fine morning after he had disposed of a breakfast that might have sustained an ordinary man for several days.

"Care to go with ye!" echoed Tolly, "I just think I should. But, look here, Mahoghany," continued the boy, with a troubled expression, "I've promised to go out on the lake to-day wi' Leaping Buck, an' I _must_ keep my promise. You know you told us only last night in that story about the Chinaman and the grizzly that no true man ever breaks his promise."

"Right, lad, right" returned the trapper, "but you can go an' ask the little Buck to jine us, an' if he's inclined you can both come--only you must agree to leave yer tongues behind ye if ye do, for it behoves hunters to be silent, and from my experience of you I raither think yer too fond o' chatterin'."

Before Drake had quite concluded his remark Tolly was off in search of his red-skinned bosom friend.