"Come now, Okematan," said his companion in a confidential tone. "Don't let a misunderstanding arise between you and me. What is this that I have heard? You spent last night, as you admit, with a party of Crees on the war-path. You were seen and heard, and the men of the camp think you have turned traitor, and they are even now expecting an attack from this war-party. Is it true that we are to be attacked?"

"You say I was _heard_," answered the Indian, looking the half-breed straight in the face. "If so, those who heard must know what I said."

"Nay, they did indeed hear, but they did not understand, for they know not your language; but they know the language of signs, and, by the looks and gestures of the warriors, they guessed what was said and planned."

"Is it likely," asked the Indian in a low voice, "that Okematan would return to your camp alone, and put himself in your power, if an attack was intended?"

"True, true," returned Dechamp with a hearty air; "and, to say truth, I myself did not--do not--believe you false. If you tell me the truth, Okematan, and give me your word that this report is a mistaken one, I will believe you and trust you."

The Indian seemed pleased with the a.s.surance thus heartily given, but still maintained his dignified gravity, as he said--

"Okematan _always_ tells the truth. He had hoped that the folly of some young braves of his tribe should never have been known to any one; but since it has been found out, he will tell all he knows to his pale-faced brother."

Hereupon he related all that had transpired at the council of war, and the final success of his own speech, with that of the old warrior, in producing a peaceful solution.

"But are you sure they will follow your advice?" asked Dechamp.

"Yes, Okematan is quite sure."

"Well, then, as I said, I will trust you," returned Dechamp, extending his hand, which the Indian gravely grasped; "and I will give you undeniable proof, by giving my young men orders to start after the buffalo at once--without further delay."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE BUFFALO-HUNT.

In accordance with the a.s.surance given to Okematan Antoine Dechamp at once gave orders to make preparation for an immediate start after the buffalo--much to the satisfaction of the hunters, especially the young ones.

Buffaloes--or, to speak more correctly, bisons--roamed over the North American prairies at the time we write of in countless thousands; for the Indians, although extremely wasteful of animal life, could not keep their numbers down, and the aggressive white-man, with his deadly gun and rifle, had only just begun to depopulate the plains. Therefore the hunters had not to travel far before coming up with their quarry.

In a very brief s.p.a.ce of time they were all drawn up in line under command of their chosen leader, who, at least up to the moment of giving the signal for attack, kept his men in reasonably good order. They had not ridden long when the huge ungainly bisons were seen like black specks on the horizon.

Still the hors.e.m.e.n--each armed with the muzzle-loading, single-barrelled, flint-lock gun of the period--advanced cautiously, until so near that the animals began to look up as if in surprise at the unwonted intrusion on their great solitudes.

Then the signal was given, the horses stretched out at the gallop, the buffalo began to run--at first heavily, as if great speed were impossible to them; but gradually the pace increased until it attained to racing speed. Then the hunters gave the rein to their eager steeds, and the long line rushed upon the game like a tornado of centaurs.

From this point all discipline was at an end. Each man fought for his own hand, killing as many animals as he could, so that ere long the plain was strewn with carcases, and the air filled with gunpowder smoke.

We have said that all the hunters set out, but this is not strictly correct, for three were left behind. One of these had fallen sick; one had sprained his wrist, and another was lazy. It need scarcely be told that the lazy one was Francois La Certe.

"There is no hurry," he said, when the hunters were a.s.sembling for the start; "plenty of time. My horse has not yet recovered from the fatigues of the journey. And who knows but the report of the buffalo being so near may be false? I will wait and see the result. To-morrow will be time enough to begin. Then, Slowfoot, you will see what I can do. Your hands shall be busy. We will load our cart with meat and pemmican, pay off all our debts, and spend a happy winter in Red River.

What have you got there in the kettle?"

"Pork," answered Slowfoot with characteristic brevity.

"Will it soon be ready?"

"Soon."

"Have you got the tea unpacked?"

"Yes."

"Send me your pipe."

This latter speech was more in the tone of a request than a command, and the implied messenger from the opposite side of the fire was the baby-- Baby La Certe. We never knew its name, if it had one, and we have reason to believe that it was a female baby. At the time, baby was quite able to walk--at least to waddle or toddle.

A brief order from the maternal lips sent Baby La Certe toddling round the fire towards its father, pipe in hand; but, short though the road was, it had time to pause and consider. Evidently the idea of justice was strongly developed in that child. Fair wage for fair work had clearly got hold of it, for it put the pipe which was still alight, in its mouth and began to draw!

At this the father smiled benignly, but Slowfoot made a demonstration which induced a rather prompt completion of the walk without a reasonable wage. It sucked vigorously all the time, however, being evidently well aware that Francois was not to be feared.

At that moment the curtain of the tent lifted, and little Bill Sinclair limped in. He was a favourite with La Certe, who made room for him, and at once offered him the pipe, but Billie declined.

"No, thank you, La Certe. I have not learned to smoke yet."

"Ha! you did not begin young enough," said the half-breed, glancing proudly at his own offspring.

We may explain here once for all that, although he had lived long enough in the colony to understand French, Billie spoke to his friend in English, and that, although La Certe understood English, he preferred to speak in French.

"What have you been doing?" he asked, when the boy had seated himself.

"I've been shooting at a mark with my bow and arrow--brother Archie made it for me."

"Let me see--yes, it is very well made. Where is brother Archie?"

"Gone after the buffalo."

"What!--on a horse?"

"He could not go very well after them on foot--could he?" replied the boy quietly. "Dan Davidson lent him a horse, but not a gun. He said that Archie was too young to use a gun on horseback, and that he might shoot some of the people instead of the buffalo, or burst his gun, or fall off. But _I_ don't think so. Archie can do anything. I know, for I've seen him do it."

"And so he has left you in camp all by yourself. What a shame, Billie!"

"No, Francois, it is not a shame. Would you have me keep him from the fun just because I can't go? _That_ would indeed be a shame, wouldn't it?"

"Well, perhaps you're right, Billie."

"I know I'm right," returned the boy, with a decision of tone that would have been offensive if it had not been accompanied with a look of straightforward gentleness that disarmed resentment. "But, I say, Francois, why are you not out with the rest?"

"Oh, because--because--Well, you know, my horse is tired, and--and, I'm not quite sure that the buffalo really have been seen as near as they say. And I can go to-morrow just as well. You see, Billie, there is no need to hurry oneself."

"No, I don't see that. I think there's always need for hurry, specially with men like you. I know the reason you don't go out better than yourself, Francois."

"Yes--what is it?" asked the half-breed with a slight laugh.

"It's laziness. That's what it is, and you should be ashamed of yourself."

The large mild eyes and low voice, and pale earnest face of the plain-spoken invalid were such that it would have been impossible for any one to be offended with him, much less La Certe, whose spirit of indignation it was almost impossible to arouse. He winced a little at the home-thrust, however, because he knew it to be true.