The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE PURSUIT BEGINS.

  There is something delightfully exhilarating in a chase, whether it beafter man or beast. How the blood careers! How the nerves tingle! Butyou know all about it, reader. We have said sufficient.

  There was enough of righteous indignation in Victor's bosom to haveconsumed Petawanaquat, and ground enough to justify the fiercestresolves. Was not the kidnapper a redskin--a low, mean, contemptiblesavage? Was not the kidnapped one his brother--his "own" brother? Andsuch a brother! One of a thousand, with mischief enough in him, ifrightly directed, to make half a dozen ordinary men! The nature of thespirit which animated Victor was obvious on his compressed lips, hisfrowning brows, his gleaming eyes. The strength of his muscles wasindicated by the foam that fled from his paddle.

  Ian Macdonald was not less excited, but more under self-control than hisfriend. There was a fixed look in his plain but pleasant face, and atremendous sweep in his long arms as he plied the paddle, that told ofunfathomed energy. The canoe being a mere egg-shell, leaped forward ateach quick stroke "like a thing of life."

  There was no time to lose. They knew that, for the Indian had probablygot a good start of them, and, being a powerful man, animated by thecertainty of pursuit sooner or later, would not only put his strengthbut his endurance to the test. If they were to overtake him it must beby superhuman exertion. Lake Winnipeg was twenty miles off. They mustcatch up the Indian before he reached it, as otherwise it would beimpossible to tell in which direction he had gone.

  They did not pause to make inquiries of the settlers on the banks by theway, but they hailed several canoes, whose occupants said they had seenthe Indian going quietly down stream some hours before--alone in hiscanoe!

  "Never mind, Vic, push on," said Ian; "of course he would make Tony lieflat down."

  The end of the settlement was passed, and they swept on into thewilderness beyond. Warming to their work, they continued to paddle hourafter hour--steadily, persistently, with clockwork regularity of stroke,but never decreasing force. To save time they, as it were, cut offcorners at the river-bends, and just shaved the points as they went by.

  "Have a care, Ian!" exclaimed Victor, at one of these places, as hispaddle touched the bottom. "We don't draw much water, to be sure, but abig stone might--hah!"

  A roar of dismay burst from the youth and his companion as the canoerasped over a stone.

  We have said that the birch canoe was an egg-shell. The word isscarcely figurative. The slightest touch over a stone has a tendency torip the bark of such a slender craft, or break off the resinous gum withwhich the seams are pitched. Water began to pour in.

  "Too bad!" exclaimed Victor, flinging his paddle ashore, as he steppedover the side into water not much above his ankles, and pulled the canoeslowly to land.

  "An illustration of the proverb, `The more haste the less speed,'"sighed Ian, as he stepped into the water and assisted in lifting thecanoe tenderly to dry ground.

  "Oh, it's all very well for you to take it philosophically, but you knowour chance is gone. If it was _your_ brother we were after you wouldn'tbe so cool."

  "He is Elsie's brother," replied Ian, "and that makes me quite as keenas if he were my own, besides keeping me cool. Come, Vic, don't becross, but light the fire and get out the gum."

  While he spoke Ian was actively untying a bundle which contained awlsand wattape, a small pliable root, with which to repair the injury. Thegum had to be melted, so that Victor found some relief to his feelingsin kindling a fire. The break was not a bad one. With nimble fingersIan sewed a patch of bark over it. While that was being done, Victorstruck a light with flint and steel, and soon had a blazing firebrandready.

  "Hand it here, Vic," said Ian.

  He covered the stitches with melted gum, blew the charcoal red-hot,passed it here and there over the old seams where they exhibited signsof leakage, and in little more than half an hour had the canoe as tightas a bottle. Once more they embarked and drove her like an arrow downstream.

  But precious time had been lost, and it was dark when they passed fromthe river and rested on the bosom of the mighty fresh-water sea.

  "It's of no use going on without knowing which shore the redskin hasfollowed," said Ian, as he suddenly ceased work and rested his paddle onthe gunwale.

  "It's of no use to remain where we are," replied the impatient Victor,looking back at his comrade.

  "Yes, it is," returned Ian, "the moon will rise in an hour or so andenable us to make observations; meanwhile we can rest. Sooner or laterwe shall be compelled to rest. It will be a wise economy of time to doso now when nothing else can be done."

  Victor was so tired and sleepy by that time that he could scarcelyreply. Ian laughed quietly, and shoved the canoe among some reeds,where it lay on a soft bed. At the same time he advised his companionto go to sleep without delay.

  More than half asleep already, he obeyed in silence, waded to the shore,and sat down on a bank to take off his moccasins. In this position andact he fell asleep.

  "Hallo!" exclaimed Ian, coming up with the paddles and pemmican bag;"too soon, Vic, too soon, lad," (he tumbled him over on the bank);"come, one mouthful of grub first, then off with the moccasins, and downwe go."

  Victor picked himself up with a yawn. On ordinary occasions abackwoodsman pays some little attention to the comforts of hisencampment, but our heroes were in no condition to mind such trifles.They pulled off their wet moccasins, indeed, and put on dry ones, buthaving done that they merely groped in the dark for the flattest pieceof ground in the neighbourhood, then each rolled himself in his blanketand lay, or rather fell, down.

  "Hah!" gasped Victor.

  "Wa's wrong?" sighed Ian faintly.

  "Put m' shoulder 'n a puddle, 'at's all," lisped Victor.

  "T'ke't out o' the purl, then--oh!" groaned Ian.

  "W'as 'e marrer now, eh?" sighed Victor.

  "On'y a big stone i' m' ribs."

  "Shove't out o' y'r ribs 'en an' 'old y'r tongue."

  Profound slumber stopped the conversation at this point, and the frogsthat croaked and whistled in the swamps had it all to themselves.

  Deep tranquillity reigned on the shores of Lake Winnipeg during themidnight hours, for the voices of the frogs served rather to accent thanto disturb the calm. Stars twinkled at their reflections in the water,which extended like a black mirror to the horizon. They gave out littlelight, however, and it was not until the upper edge of the full moonarose that surrounding objects became dimly visible. The pale lightedged the canoe, silvered the rocks, tipped the rushes, and at last,touching the point of Ian's upturned nose, awoke him. (SeeFrontispiece).

  He leaped up with a start instantly, conscious of his situation, andafraid lest he had slept too long.

  "Hi! leve! leve! awake! up!" he exclaimed in a vigorous undertone.

  Victor growled, turned on his other side with a deep sigh, wanted to belet alone, became suddenly conscious, and sprang up in alarm.

  "We're too late!"

  "No, we're not, Vic. The moon is just rising, but we must be stirring.Time's precious."

  Victor required no urging. He was fully alive to the situation. A fewminutes sufficed to get the canoe ready and roll up their blankets,during the performance of which operations they each ate severalsubstantial mouthfuls of pemmican.

  Looking carefully round before pushing off the canoe to see that nothingwas forgotten, Ian observed some chips of wood on the beach close athand.

  "See, Vic!" he said eagerly; "some one has been here--perhaps theIndian."

  They examined the chips, which had been recently cut. "It's not easy tomake out footprints here," said Ian, going down on his knees the betterto observe the ground; "and so many settlers and Indians pass from timeto time, having little boys with them too, that--. I say, look here,Vic, this little footmark might or might not be Tony's, but moccasinsare so much alike that--"

  "Out o' the light, man; if you w
ere made o' glass the moon _might_ getthrough you. Why, yes, it _is_ Tony's moccasin!" cried Victor, in eagerexcitement. "I know it by the patch, for I saw Elsie putting it on thisvery morning. Look, speak, man! don't you see it? A square patch onthe ball of the right foot!"

  "Yes, yes; I see it," said Ian, going down on his knees in a spirit ofsemi-worship, and putting his nose close to the ground.

  He would fain have kissed the spot that had been pressed by a patch puton by Elsie, but he was "unromantic," and refrained.

  "Now," he said, springing up with alacrity, "that settles the question.At least it shows that there is strong probability of their having takenthe left shore of the lake."

  "Come along, then, let's after them," cried Victor impatiently, pushingoff the canoe.

  The moment she floated--which she did in about four inches of water--they stepped swiftly yet gently into her; for bark canoes require tendertreatment at all times, even when urgent speed is needful. Gliding intodeep water, they once more dipped their paddles, deep and fast, anddanced merrily over the moonlit sea--for a sea Lake Winnipeg certainlyis, being upwards of three hundred miles long, and a gathering togetherof many waters from all parts of the vast wilderness of Rupert's Land.

  After two hours of steady work they paused to rest.

  "Now, Ian," said Victor, leaning against the wooden bar at his back, andresting his paddle across the canoe, "Venus tells me that the sun isabout to bestir himself, and something within me tells me that emptyspace is a bad stomachic; so, out with the pemmican bag, and hand over ajunk."

  Ian drew his hunting-knife, struck it into the mass of meat, and chippedoff a piece the size of his fist, which he handed to his comrade.

  Probably our readers are aware that pemmican is made of dried buffalomeat pounded to shreds and mixed with melted fat. Being thushalf-cooked in the making, it can be used with or without furthercookery. Sewed up in its bag, it will keep good for months, or evenyears, and is magnificent eating, but requires a strong digestion. Ianand Victor were gifted with that requisite. They fed luxuriously. Adraught from the crystal lake went down their unsophisticated throatslike nectar, and they resumed their paddles like giants refreshed.

  Venus mounted like a miniature moon into the glorious blue. Her perfectimage went off in the opposite direction, for there was not the ghost ofa zephyr to ruffle the deep. Presently the sun followed in her wake,and scattered the battalions of cloudland with artillery of molten gold.Little white gulls, with red legs and beaks, came dipping over thewater, solemnly wondering at the intruders. The morning mists rollingalong before the resistless monarch of day confused the visible worldfor a time, so that between refraction and reflection and buoyantspirits Victor Ravenshaw felt that at last he had found the realms offairyland, and a feeling of certainty that he should soon rescue hisbrother filled him with exultation.

  But the exultation was premature. Noon found them toiling on, and stillno trace of the fugitives was to be seen.

  "What if we have overshot them?" said Victor.

  "Impossible," answered Ian, "the shore is too open for that, and I havebeen keeping a sharp look-out at every bend and bay."

  "That may be true, yet Petawanaquat may have kept a sharper look-out,and concealed himself when he saw us coming. See, here is a creek. Hemay have gone up that. Let us try. Why! there _is_ a canoe in it.Hup! drive along, Ian!"

  The canoe seemed to leap out of the water under the double impulse, andnext moment almost ran down another canoe which was half hidden amongthe reeds. In it sat an old Indian named Peegwish, and a lively youngFrench half-breed named Michel Rollin. They were both well known to ouradventurers; old Peegwish--whose chief characteristic was owlishness--being a frequent and welcome visitor at the house of Ian's father.

  "You 'pears to be in one grand hurray," exclaimed Rollin, in his brokenEnglish.

  Ian at once told the cause of their appearance there, and asked if theyhad seen anything of Petawanaquat.

  "Yes, oui, no--dat is to say. Look 'ere!"

  Rollin pushed the reeds aside with his paddle, and pointed to a canoelying bottom up, as if it had been concealed there.

  "Ve's be come 'ere after duck, an' ve find dat," said the half-breed.

  An immediate investigation showed that Petawanaquat had forsaken hiscanoe and taken to the woods. Ian looked troubled. Peegwish opened hisowlish eyes and looked so solemn that Victor could scarce forbearlaughing, despite the circumstances. It was immediately resolved togive chase. Peegwish was left in charge of the canoes. The other threesoon found the track of the Red Man and followed it up likeblood-hounds. At first they had no difficulty in following the trail,being almost as expert as Indians in woodcraft, but soon they came toswampy ground, and then to stony places, in which they utterly lost it.Again and again did they go back to pick up the lost trail, and followit only to lose it again.

  Thus they spent the remainder of that day until night put a stop totheir exertions and crushed their hopes. Then, dispirited and weary,they returned to the canoes and encamped beside them.

  Peegwish was engaged in roasting a duck when they arrived.

  "What a difference between the evening and the morning," said Victor, ashe flung himself down beside the fire.

  "Dat is troo, an' vat I has obsarve oftin," said Rollin, lookingearnestly into a kettle which rested on the fire.

  "Never mind, Vic," said Ian heartily, "we'll be at it again to-morrow,bright and early. We're sure to succeed in the long-run. Petawanaquatcan't travel at night in the woods any more than we can."

  Old Peegwish glared at the fire as though he were pondering thesesayings deeply. As he understood little or no English, however, it ismore probable that his astute mind was concentrated on the roastingduck.