With Axe and Rifle Part 29

I did not require a second summons, exerting all my remaining strength, I turned and hastened in the direction whence the voice proceeded. I saw two persons with rifles in their hands, one a white man, the other an Indian. The next instant I fell fainting to the ground. I heard loud voices, but no shot was fired. The white man was addressing the Indians, and they replied. I in vain endeavoured to arouse myself, and in a short time became totally unconscious of what was pa.s.sing around.

When my senses returned, I found myself in a roomy wigwam of birch bark, the floor was lined with fine mats, and there were two skin-covered couches, besides the one on which I lay. Several weapons, cooking utensils, and other articles, hung to the supports, while round the walls were piled up packages of skins. At my side lay Boxer, looking sleek and fat, as if he had recovered from his fatigue and had been well cared for. He and I were the only inmates of the hut. Though I talked to him he could give me no information as to what had happened, or how I came to be there. It was some time, indeed, before I recollected the events which had occurred, and I then knew that I was indebted for my life to the white hunter I had seen just as the Indians were on the point of capturing me.

I dozed off once more after this, when I was aroused by the cool air coming in owing to the curtain in front of the tent being drawn aside as the hunter entered. After looking at me for a few seconds, and discovering that I was awake; he said in a kind voice, "I am glad to find, my young friend, that you have come to yourself. You'll do well now, I've no doubt, but you have had a tough struggle for life, though by the way you made your escape from the red-skins I had great hopes from the first that you would come off the victor."

"Have I been long here?" I asked. "Pray let me get up; I want to get to Fort Hamilton, to send the doctor to my mother, who is very ill; and if he doesn't go, I am afraid she will die."

"I won't keep you in suspense; the doctor went away the day after you were brought here, and I sent word by him that you were safe. The brave black fellow, who managed to reach the fort, after escaping from the Indians, took the message, but he considered that you were not fit to be moved, and were better off with me than you would be in the crowded fort. To tell you the truth, you've been here six weeks or more, and the chances are that you will remain another six weeks."

"I have much to thank you for," I answered, "the news you have given me will restore my strength faster than anything else, and I should feel still happier if you can tell me that mother benefited by the doctor's visit."

"Of that I can a.s.sure you, for I way-laid him, and got him to come and see you. He informed me that she is in a fair way of recovery."

I reiterated my thanks to my host. It was not until he was seated before the fire, cooking some venison steaks from a deer he had just killed, and the flame fell on his countenance, that, examining it, I recognised the white hunter we had met so long before, on our way to Smiling Valley. He had, however, greatly changed since then, and had evidently been leading a wild hunter's life, his dress was of skins, and except his rifle and hunting traps, and cooking utensils, everything in the hut appeared to have been of his own manufacture.

"We have met before," I said, "and I had then to thank you for saving me and my companions from the Indians. Don't you remember me?"

"I recollect the circ.u.mstance, though you have altered so much, that I did not recognise you," he answered. He then made inquiries after the Dominie, and expressed his satisfaction at hearing of our success at Smiling Valley. "Indeed, I knew that some white people had settled there from my Indian friend Kluko, who has been for a long time my firm ally, and frequently a.s.sisted me to escape from the red-skins. He will be here before long, as he visits me frequently."

I replied that I knew the chief, who had shown his friendly disposition towards us, and should be happy to meet him. I then inquired whether he had been eastward since the time of which we were speaking.

"Once, and for the last time," he answered, a shade of melancholy pa.s.sing over his countenance.

Though afraid that I might pain him if I put further questions, my curiosity prompted me to inquire what had taken him to the settlements, since he appeared wedded to his wild life.

"Your question arouses the recollection of circ.u.mstances I have been endeavouring to forget. I had at one time resolved to abandon my hunter's life and to return to civilisation. I married and settled at Ohio, but misfortune overtook me, floods destroyed my crops, and all the capital I had saved by years of toil was lost. To regain it I resolved once more to plunge into the wilderness, and set off, leaving my wife and infant child with her father. I was as successful as I expected, and having realised a considerable sum from the furs I had obtained, I returned to the settlement, expecting to find my wife and child with her family. On reaching it, bitter was my disappointment to learn that my father-in-law's farm had been destroyed by a fearful fire which raged over the country, and that he, taking my wife and child, had set off with some of his neighbours to migrate westward. A report had been circulated that I had been killed by the Indians, my wife consequently had left no message for me. Once more I turned my face westward, hoping to overtake the train, or to find out where the party had located themselves. In vain I searched for them, but at length had too certain evidence that the train had been cut off by Indians, and every person belonging to it ma.s.sacred."

"I am afraid in most respects your information was correct," I observed; and I then told him how on our journey we had come up with a train which had been destroyed as had the one he spoke of, "though it might not be the same," I added, "for one person escaped, a little girl, who told us that her name was Lily."

"Lily!" exclaimed the hunter, "that was the name of my child. Did she survive? Where is she?"

I replied that she had lived with us ever since as my parents' adopted daughter. "Indeed my father and mother and Uncle Denis love her as much as they do any one of us," I added.

"Uncle Denis!" repeated the hunter, and he seemed lost in thought.

"Young man," he said at length, "what is your name?"

"Michael Loraine," I answered.

"And your uncle's surname?"

I told him.

"And they are loving and cheris.h.i.+ng my Lily?"

"Yes," I replied; "and there is no being an earth I love so well."

For some minutes the hunter was silent, but I saw that he was much agitated. At length he asked, in a low voice, "Have you ever heard your uncle or mother speak of a brother, who came over to America with them?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I was named after him. They both cherish his memory, and I know that Uncle Denis much blames himself for his conduct towards him, and would give all he possesses to see him again."

"Are you speaking the truth?" asked the hunter.

"Indeed I am, why should I do otherwise?" I answered, a suspicion rising in my mind of who he was. "Are you my Uncle Michael?" I asked, looking in his face. "I am nearly certain that you are, and if so, I am confident that my father and mother will rejoice if you will return to them, and Lily too; she must be your daughter."

In spite of my anxiety to get well, the winter snows had melted, and the trees were once more budding before my long-lost uncle and I were able to set forward on our journey. By means of Kluko he had taken care to let my family know of my progress towards recovery, but strange as it may appear, he had not informed them who he was, being anxious to do so, I suspect, personally. Kluko had also taken charge of his bales of skins and peltries; and the wigwam which had so long served as our abode was left for the benefit of any person who might choose to take possession of it.

The hunter, for so I will still call him, was unusually nervous as we approached "Smiling Valley." We were nearly in sight of the farm, when we saw my father approaching. I threw myself from my horse and after our first greetings were over, I introduced the hunter, as he had desired me to do, as the person who had been the means of saving my life.

"Now go forward, Mike," he said, for so he had taken to call me; "your friends at home will be longing to see you. I will follow with your father."

I bounded on, and was soon receiving the joyous welcomings of the loved ones from whom I had been so long parted, while the Dominie almost wrung my hand off, as he congratulated me on my return. Uncle Denis had been absent shooting, but he at that moment came in. I was burning to tell them who the stranger was, but having been forbidden to do so, I restrained myself. In a short time, however, my father and his companion arrived. Uncle Denis gazed at the latter for a few seconds.

"Michael!" he exclaimed, and the two brothers rushed in each other's arms.

Kathleen and Lily were standing by. Uncle Michael turned from his brother, and gazed at Lily: he advanced towards her.

"I am not mistaken!" he said; "come to my arms, my child; I thought you lost with your poor mother, or I should have searched the world over for you. Do not be alarmed, I will not take you from those who have cherished you so lovingly."

Lily returned her new-found father's embrace, but it was some time before she could recover from her astonishment, which was still further increased on finding that he was our Uncle Michael of whom she had so often heard. My father now took him in to see my mother, who was not yet well enough to come out of doors. Dio quickly made his appearance, and showed his joy at my return by bursting into tears as he exclaimed--

"Dis n.i.g.g.e.r just 'bout de happiest man in de 'ole world."

I did not fail to inform my father of the coolness and bravery the black had displayed in overcoming his desire to remain with me, and making his way to the fort for the sake of bringing a.s.sistance to my mother.

It was not the last time that Dio rendered us essential service, as he ever remained faithfully attached to my father and family.

My two uncles were not only reconciled, but became as affectionate as brothers should be, and before long set off for the settlements, from whence they returned with two suitable wives, who proved admirable helpmates to them, and kind aunts to us.

Lily ere long became my wife, by which time, thanks to my father's a.s.sistance, I had a house and farm of my own.

The Dominie, to our great surprise, soon after the arrival of Uncle Michael took his departure.

"You'll see me again," he said, with a knowing smile: and so we did, but he did not come back alone; he was accompanied by a curious specimen of woman-kind, at least so we thought her at first, but she proved of sterling worth, and made the Dominie an excellent wife and became the mother of several st.u.r.dy sons and daughters.

Other settlers pitched their tents in the neighbourhood of Smiling Valley, and at length a large and flouris.h.i.+ng community was gathered round us, well able to resist any attack which hostile Indians might have made on the settlement. Most of the tribes in the vicinity however, had long before buried the war-hatchet, and we and they dwelt at peace. Years have pa.s.sed away since the time of which I have been speaking, but Lily and I often talk over the adventures of our younger days, and, as we narrate them to our children, we lift up our hearts in grat.i.tude to Him who preserved us from all dangers and has showered so many blessings on our heads.

People often ask what is the moral of the tale. As far as my narrative is concerned I did not write it with the idea of evolving a moral, but I can say that, if it contains one, it is this: "Trust G.o.d--do your duty in His sight, and leave all else to Him."

THE END.