One of the warriors stood up in the midst of his brethren and made a speech, which, to judge from its effect on the others, must have been highly inflammatory and warlike. During the delivery of it he turned his ugly visage frequently, and pointed, with his blue-striped nose, as it were, in the direction of Fort MacFearsome.

Whatever might have been the tendency of the speech, it was suddenly cut short by the sound of a horse's hoofs clattering in the glen below.

After bestowing a united eagle glance on the approaching horseman, the Blackfeet warriors turned a look of intelligence on each other, lay flat down in the long gra.s.s, and melted from the scene as completely and silently as snow-wreaths melt before the sun in spring.

The Reverend William Tucker was a muscular Christian. That is to say, he believed that the body, as well as the soul, ought to be cultivated to the highest possible extent--both having the same origin--and held that physical health, strength, and vigour, if not absolutely necessary to the advancement of Christianity in the earth, were at least eminently conducive thereto. Holding such opinions, and being powerfully built, he threw himself heart and soul into whatever he did. Hence the clatter of his horse's hoofs as he galloped swiftly up the glen.

But the Reverend William Tucker was also merciful, and not only drew rein when the path became too steep, but dismounted and led his steed by the bridle when he reached the rugged ground near the spot where the war-party had melted away.

Great and grand were the preparations made for the approaching festivities at Mac's Fort. Michel, the cook, constructed a venison pie, the tin dish of which, (repaired expressly for the occasion that afternoon by the Fort blacksmith), might have served for a bath to an average baby. The carpenter arranged the hall, or large public room, cleared away the tables, fitted up a device in evergreens which was supposed to represent the words _Loo_ and _Reu_, and otherwise garnished the ball-room with specimens of his originality and taste, while old Fiddlestrings, who was a self-taught half-breed, fitted to his violin a new string made by his wife that day from a deer-sinew.

When the hour arrived for the performance of the ceremony, Reuben Dale appeared among the men of the Fort, dressed, not like a gentleman in broadcloth, but, in hunter's costume of the most approved cut and material--a yellow deerskin coat, ornamented with bead and quill work; blue cloth leggings, a small fur cap, moccasins garnished with silk flowers, fitting as tight to his feet as gloves fit the hands, and a crimson worsted sash round his waist. He also wore, slung on his shoulder by scarlet worsted cords, a powder-horn and shot-pouch--not that these implements of the chase were necessary to the occasion, but because he would as soon have thought of appearing at any time without them as without his nose. For the same reason his rifle accompanied him to the wedding.

A short time before the appointed hour the bride-elect adorned herself in simple yet tasteful costume, which, being peculiar to no particular nation or time, we prefer to leave to the reader's imagination, merely remarking that as Loo was simple and pretty her garb corresponded to her appearance and character.

But the appointed hour pa.s.sed, and the Reverend William Tucker did not appear. Hunters of the Rocky Mountains, however, are not an impatient race. Reuben quietly waited as he would have done for a good shot at game. Not so The MacFearsome. His Celtic blood fired, and he muttered a few uncomplimentary remarks about the reverend absentee, which it is well not to repeat.

As time pa.s.sed, however, the dwellers in Mac's Fort became anxious, then alarmed, and finally the wedding was postponed, while a search for the lost one was organised; but they searched in vain, because tracks which might easily be traced in the wilderness get inextricably mixed up in the vicinity of a fort.

Next day Kenneth MacFearsome, coming rather hastily and angrily to the conclusion that Mr Tucker had given them the slip and gone off to his conference, determined himself to perform the marriage ceremony as directed in the Church of England Prayer-Book.

"You see, Reuben," he said, "I have a great respect for the Church, and would fain have had this matter knocked off by one of its parsons, but as this parson appears to be little better than a wolf in sheep's clothing--if as good--I'll just do it myself, for I'll not have my daughter's wedding delayed another day for any man, woman, or beast alive."

"Wouldn't it be as well, sir," suggested the hunter modestly, "to have a hunt after the parson by daylight first?"

"No, it wouldn't," said the old trader, with the air and decision of--we were going to say the great Mogul, but perhaps it would be more emphatic and appropriate to say--The MacFearsome.

Knowing that appeal from that decision would be in vain, Reuben once more arrayed himself in the wedding dress, (which he had changed when the search for Mr Tucker was undertaken), and once again presented himself before his admiring friends in the decorated hall of Mac's Fort.

The cook warmed up his gigantic pie, old Fiddlestrings re-tuned his home-made violin, and pretty little Loo at last appeared on the scene with two half-breed young women as bridesmaids, and two Indian females as backers-up.

"My friends," said Kenneth MacFearsome, taking up the prayer-book, and commencing a speech which he had spent the entire forenoon in preparing, "I have a few words to say to you on this interesting occasion."

The old gentleman's usually stern and handsome countenance had relaxed, and a.s.sumed a bland, sweet expression, which was more consonant with the circ.u.mstances in which they were a.s.sembled. Before he could utter another word, however, he was interrupted, to his great surprise, by Reuben.

"Excuse me, Mr MacFearsome," said that bold though bashful hunter, "but my friend and comrade, Jacob Strang, has not yet arrived, and it would grieve me to the heart if he was absent at such a time as this.

Couldn't we wait a bit? I wouldn't ask you to do so for any other man alive, but I've hunted wi' him since we were slips of boys, and--and I can't help thinkin' that somethin's gone wrong wi' him, for Jacob's good and true, and trusty as steel, an' wasn't used to fail in his engagements."

While the hunter was speaking the bland expression faded from the Highlander's countenance, and a fierce look flashed from his blue eyes as he replied in stern, decided tones:--

"Reuben Dale, if your friend Jacob was the great Israel of Bible story, or even Moses himself, I would not wait for him. Don't interrupt me again, lad."

He turned to the a.s.sembled company with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss the interruption from memory, and attempted to rea.s.sume the benignant expression, with only partial success.

"My friends," he said, but said no more, for at that moment he was a second time interrupted. A shout was heard outside, the door of the hall burst open, and Jacob Strang himself strode in, bearing the Reverend William Tucker on his shoulders.

Depositing his burden on the floor, he said hurriedly, "He's not dead, only stunned. The reptiles did their best to kill him. They're not far off, MacFearsome. We'd better go after them."

The MacFearsome usually gave vent to his feelings in Gaelic when labouring under strong excitement. On this occasion his utterances were terrible in tone whatever their meaning might be.

"Go after them?" he cried, in a blaze of wrath, "yes, we'll go after them. Saddle my horse and fetch my gun. Arm yourself, boys! Some of you will remain to guard the Fort, and see that you keep the gates shut.

Can you guide us to the villains, Jacob?"

"I can at least follow up the trail."

"Stay, _I_ can guide you," said a voice behind them.

It was the Reverend William Tucker himself, who had recovered, and was sitting up on the floor looking rather confused.

"No, sir; you will remain at the Fort and take care of the women," said MacFearsome gruffly.

In a few minutes the Chief of the Fort was galloping over the prairie at the back of his establishment, followed by six of his best men, with Reuben Dale, and led by Jacob Strang.

In thus giving chase to the red men the Highlander did not act with his wonted caution. His wrath was too much for him.

Jacob the hunter, while out after deer, had come on the trail of the war-party of Blackfeet. Suspecting them of mischief, he had followed them up and found them just at the time when they made prisoner of Mr Tucker. He saw them bind the unlucky pastor and carry him off, mounted behind a savage chief. Jacob chanced fortunately to be concealed in a rugged piece of ground where horses could not act. As the Indians were riding away he shot the horse that bore the pastor, and at the same time uttered a series of yells and extempore war-whoops so appalling that the savages gave him credit for being at least a dozen foes, and fled over a ridge before turning to see what had happened. The fall of the horse had stunned the pastor, but the Indian leaped up and drew his knife.

Fortunately Jacob's rifle was a double-barrelled one. Uttering another ferocious yell he fired, and by good fortune hit the right arm of the Indian chief, who, dropping his knife, followed his companions like a hunted stag. Jacob immediately dashed out of his ambush, lifted the reverend gentleman on his own horse, which he had left in a hollow close at hand, and brought him, as we have seen, safe back to the Fort.

Now, if the white men had been satisfied with this, all would have been well, but The MacFearsome had been roused, as we have said, and set off needlessly in pursuit of the savages. It chanced that the Blackfeet had arranged to attack the Fort in two bands that night--advancing on it from opposite directions. The consequence was that while MacFearsome and his men were away after one band, the other--a much larger band-- ignorant of what had occurred to their comrades, advanced after dusk on the Fort, and gave the signal for attack. They were surprised at receiving no reply from their comrades, but did not delay the a.s.sault on that account.

The men who had been left in charge of the Fort were quite worthy of the trust. Stationing themselves a few yards apart all round the palisades inside, they kept guard. Mr Tucker, armed with an axe-handle as a bludgeon--for he objected to taking life if he could avoid it--mounted guard at the gate. Pretty little Loo kept him company. The other women were stationed so as to carry ammunition to the men, or convey orders from the blacksmith who had been left in command.

"This is a sad interruption to your wedding," remarked the pastor, as he leaned against the Fort gate, and examined his weapon.

"It is," a.s.sented Loo meekly, "but you will marry us to-morrow. My father will return too late to have it done to-night, I fear."

"However late he comes we must get the ceremony over to-night, Loo, for I positively cannot delay my journey another day. Indeed, even as it is, I shall be late for the conference of my brethren. Hark! What sound was that?"

"I heard nothing but the hoot of an owl," said Loo.

As she spoke an arrow, entering between the palisades, whizzed past her.

At the same moment a volley was fired from the other side of the Fort.

"Keep closer to the gate, Loo," said Mr Tucker, grasping his club with a feeling that the girl's safety depended on the use he made of that unclerical weapon.

"Come round to the east angle, all of you," shouted the blacksmith.

All the men in the Fort obeyed the summons in time to repel a vigorous a.s.sault made on that point by what seemed to be the whole band of the enemy, but the bride and one of her maids remained at the front gate to keep watch there. Just as the victory was gained and the enemy were driven off at the east angle, a loud scream was given by the women. Mr Tucker heard it and was first to run to the rescue. He found that three of the Blackfeet, during the a.s.sault on the other side, had crept round to the front gate. One of these had placed his head against the stockade, a second had mounted on his shoulders, and a third had thus gained the top of the pickets.

Seeing at a glance how matters stood, Mr Tucker ran forward and thrust his bludgeon with a straight point between the posts, right into the painted face of the lower savage, who fell back at once, carrying the second savage along with him: but the third had already laid his hands on the top, and, vaulting over with monkey-like agility, came down on the pastor's shoulders with such violence that both rolled together on the ground. But the savage was no match for the athletic pastor, who compressed his throat with a grip that soon caused him to relax his hold.

"Here, give me your kerchief, Loo," gasped the pastor; "I'll tie his hands."

"Why don't you stick him?" asked one of Loo's bridesmaids with great simplicity.

"Because I won't take life if I can help it," replied Mr Tucker as he bound the Indian's wrists.

At that moment there arose a wild war-whoop from another part of the Fort, and a volume of smoke and flame burst from the back of the chief dwelling-house which stood in the centre of the square. The Blackfeet had gained an entrance at another point, and set fire to the western wing of the building unperceived.

With a shout of rage the blacksmith and his men rushed to the scene of disaster.