"You are right in the last particular," he said, with a sigh. "Mr Whyte is so rough and overbearing that the Indians are beginning to dislike him. Some of the more clear-sighted among them see that a good deal of this lies in mere manner, and have penetration enough to observe that in all his dealings with them he is straightforward and liberal; but there are a set of them who either don't see this, or are so indignant at the rough speeches he often makes, and the rough treatment he sometimes threatens, that they won't forgive him, but seem to be nursing their wrath. I sometimes wish he was sent to a district where the Indians and traders are, from habitual intercourse, more accustomed to each other's ways, and so less likely to quarrel."

"Have the Indians, then, used any open threats?" asked Harry.

"No, not exactly; but through an old man of the tribe, who is well affected towards us, I have learned that there is a party among them who seem bent on mischief."

"Then we may expect a row some day or other. That's pleasant!--What think you, Hammy?" said Harry, turning to his friend.

"I think that it would be anything but pleasant," he replied; "and I sincerely hope that we shall not have occasion for a row."

"You're not afraid of a fight, are you, Hamilton?" asked Charley.

The peculiarly bland smile with which Hamilton usually received any remark that savoured of banter overspread his features as Charley spoke, but he merely replied,--"No, Charley, I'm not afraid."

"Do you know any of the Indians who are so anxious to vent their spleen on our worthy bourgeois?" asked Harry, as he seated himself on a rocky eminence commanding a view of the richly-wooded slopes, dotted with huge ma.s.ses of rock that had fallen from the beetling cliffs behind the creek.

"Yes, I do," replied Charley; "and, by the way, one of them--the ringleader--is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name.

You've heard of an Indian called Misconna?"

"What!" exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; "you don't mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Winnipeg--the man who killed poor Jacques's young wife?"

"The same," replied Charley.

"And does Jacques know he is here?"

"He does; but Jacques is a strange, unaccountable mortal. You remember that in the struggle described by Redfeather the trapper and Misconna had neither of them seen each other, Redfeather having felled the latter before the former reached the scene of action--a scene which, he has since told me, he witnessed at a distance, while rushing to the rescue of his wife--so that Misconna is utterly ignorant of the fact that the husband of his victim is now so near him; indeed, he does not know that she had a husband at all. On the other hand, although Jacques is aware that his bitterest enemy is within rifle-range of him at this moment, he does not know him by sight; and this morning he came to me, begging that I would send Misconna on some expedition or other, just to keep him out of his way."

"And do you intend to do so?"

"I shall do my best," replied Charley; "but I cannot get him out of the way till to-morrow, as there is to be a gathering of Indians in the hall this very day, to have a palaver with Mr Whyte about their grievances, and Misconna wouldn't miss that for a trifle. But Jacques won't be likely to recognise him among so many; and if he does, I rely with confidence on his powers of restraint and forbearance.--By the way," he continued, glancing upwards, "it is past noon, and the Indians will have begun to a.s.semble; so we had better hasten back, as we shall be expected to help in keeping order."

So saying, he rose, and the young men returned to the fort. On reaching it they found the hall crowded with natives, who sat cross-legged around the walls, or stood in groups conversing in low tones, and to judge from the expression of their dark eyes and lowering brows, they were in extremely bad humour. They became silent and more respectful, however, in their demeanour when the young men entered the apartment and walked up to the fireplace, in which a small fire of wood burned on the hearth, more as a convenient means of rekindling the pipes of the Indians when they went out than as a means of heating the place. Jacques and Redfeather stood leaning against the wall near to it, engaged in a whispered conversation. Glancing round as he entered, Charley observed Misconna sitting a little apart by himself, and apparently buried in deep thought. He had scarcely perceived him, and nodded to several of his particular friends among the crowd, when a side-door opened, and Mr Whyte, with an angry expression on his countenance, strode up to the fireplace, planted himself before it, with his legs apart and his hands behind him, while he silently surveyed the group.

"So," he began, "you have asked to speak with me; well, here I am. What have you to say?"

Mr Whyte addressed the Indians in their native tongue, having, during a long residence in the country, learned to speak it as fluently as English.

For some moments there was silence. Then an old chief--the same who had officiated at the feast described in a former chapter--rose, and standing forth into the middle of the room, made a long and grave oration, in which, besides a great deal that was bombastic, much that was irrelevant, and more that was utterly fabulous and nonsensical, he recounted the sorrows of himself and his tribe, concluding with a request that the great chief would take these things into consideration--the princ.i.p.al "_things_" being that they did not get anything in the shape of gratuities, while it was notorious that the Indians in other districts did, and that they did not get enough of goods in advance, on credit of their future hunts.

Mr Whyte heard the old man to the end in silence; then, without altering his position, he looked round on the a.s.sembly with a frown, and said, "Now listen to me; I am a man of few words. I have told you over and over again, and now repeat it, that you shall get no gratuities until you prove yourselves worthy of them. I shall not increase your advances by so much as half an inch of tobacco till your last year's debts are scored off, and you begin to show more activity in hunting and less disposition to grumble. Hitherto you have not brought in anything like the quant.i.ty of furs that the capabilities of the country led me to expect. You are lazy. Until you become better hunters you shall have no redress from me."

As he finished, Mr Whyte made a step towards the door by which he had entered, but was arrested by another chief, who requested to be heard.

Resuming his place and att.i.tude, Mr Whyte listened with an expression of dogged determination, while guttural grunts of unequivocal dissatisfaction issued from the throats of several of the malcontents.

The Indian proceeded to repeat a few of the remarks made by his predecessor, but more concisely, and wound up by explaining that the failure in the hunts of the previous year was owing to the will of the Great Manito, and not by any means on account of the supposed laziness of himself or his tribe.

"That is false," said Mr Whyte; "you know it is not true."

As this was said, a murmur of anger ran round the apartment, which was interrupted by Misconna, who, apparently unable to restrain his pa.s.sion, sprang into the middle of the room, and confronting Mr Whyte, made a short and pithy speech, accompanied by violent gesticulation, in which he insinuated that if redress was not granted the white men would bitterly repent it.

During his speech the Indians had risen to their feet and drawn closer together, while Jacques and the three young men drew near their superior. Redfeather remained apart, motionless, and with his eyes fixed on the ground.

"And, pray, what dog--what miserable, thieving cur--are you, who dare to address me thus?" cried Mr Whyte, as he strode, with flashing eyes, up to the enraged Indian.

Misconna clinched his teeth, and his fingers worked convulsively about the handle of his knife, as he exclaimed, "I am no dog. The palefaces are dogs. I am a great chief. My name is known among the braves of my tribe. It is Misconna--"

As the name fell from his lips, Mr Whyte and Charley were suddenly dashed aside, and Jacques sprang towards the Indian, his face livid, his eyeb.a.l.l.s almost bursting from their sockets, and his muscles rigid with pa.s.sion. For an instant he regarded the savage intently as he shrank appalled before him; then his colossal fist fell like lightning, with the weight of a sledge-hammer, on Misconna's forehead, and drove him against the outer door, which, giving way before the violent shock, burst from its fastenings and hinges, and fell, along with the savage, with a loud crash to the ground.

For an instant every one stood aghast at this precipitate termination to the discussion, and then, springing forward in a body, with drawn knives, the Indians rushed upon the white men, who in a close phalanx, with such weapons as came first to hand, stood to receive them. At this moment Redfeather stepped forward unarmed between the belligerents, and turning to the Indians, said--

"Listen: Redfeather does not take the part of his white friends against his comrades. You know that he never failed you in the war-path, and he would not fail you now if your cause were just. But the eyes of his comrades are shut. Redfeather knows what they do not know. The white hunter" (pointing to Jacques) "is a friend of Redfeather. He is a friend of the Knisteneux. He did not strike because you disputed with his bourgeois; he struck because Misconna _is his mortal foe_. But the story is long. Redfeather will tell it at the council fire."

"He is right," exclaimed Jacques, who had recovered his usual grave expression of countenance, "Redfeather is right. I bear you no ill-will, Injins, and I shall explain the thing myself at your council fire."

As Jacques spoke the Indians sheathed their knives, and stood with frowning brows, as if uncertain what to do. The unexpected interference of their comrade-in-arms, coupled with his address and that of Jacques, had excited their curiosity. Perhaps the undaunted deportment of their opponents, who stood ready for the encounter with a look of stern determination, contributed a little to allay their resentment.

While the two parties stood thus confronting each other, as if uncertain how to act, a loud report was heard just outside the doorway. In another moment Mr Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE CHASE--THE FIGHT--RETRIBUTION--LOW SPIRITS AND GOOD NEWS.

The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate princ.i.p.al of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment.

When, therefore, they beheld Mr Whyte weltering in his blood at their feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable pa.s.sion of Misconna, who was by no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in their bosoms against the miserable a.s.sa.s.sin who had perpetrated the base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the woods in hot pursuit of him whom they now counted their enemy. They were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained a.s.sisted Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr Whyte into an adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the murderer's aim having been terribly true.

Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the open doorway, and approaching the group, stood in silence beside them, with his arms folded on his breast.

"You have something to tell, Redfeather," said Jacques, in a subdued tone, after regarding him a few seconds; "is the scoundrel caught?"

"Misconna's foot is swift," replied the Indian, "and the wood is thick.

It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes."

"What would you advise, then?" exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice.

"I see that you have some plan to propose."

"The wood is thick," answered Redfeather, "but the lake and the river are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river."

"That's it, that's it, Injin," interrupted Jacques energetically; "yer wits are always jumpin'. By crossin' over to Duck River, we can start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall; an' as it's thereabouts he must cross, we'll be time enough to catch him. If he tries the lake, the other party'll _fix_ him there; an' he'll be soon poked up if he tries to hide in the bush."

"Come, then; we'll all give chase at once," cried Charley, feeling a temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in the loss of his chief and friend.

Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of men, launched their canoe on the lake, and set off in pursuit.

Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending the stream.

"How do you mean to act, Jacques?" inquired Charley, as he paddled alongside of the guide's canoe. "Is it not likely that Misconna may have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance of catching him."