The Wild Man of the West Part 13

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A CACHE DISCOVERED--BERTRAM BECOMES VALOROUS--FAILURE FOLLOWS, AND A BRIEF SKIRMISH, FLIGHT, AND SEPARATION ARE THE RESULTS.

The sun was high, scattering the golden clouds in the bright sky, gilding the hilltops, flooding the plains, vivifying vegetable life, and gladdening the whole animal creation, when, on the following morning, our wearied trappers raised their heads and began to think of breakfast.

To do these trappers justice, however, we must add that their looks, when they became wide enough awake to take full cognisance of the scenery, indicated the presence of thoughts and emotions of a more elevated character, though, from the nature of their training from infancy, they wanted words to express their feelings.

It was otherwise with Bertram and March Marston. Their exclamations, the instant they arose, showed that both their hearts were keenly alive to the good and the beautiful which surrounded them--and their tongues were not altogether incapable of uttering the praise of Him who clothes so gorgeously the lovely earth and peoples it with millions of happy creatures--yes, happy creatures, for, despite the existence of death and sin and sorrow everywhere, and the croaking of misanthropes, there _is_ much, very much, of pure, overflowing happiness here below.

"Come, March--Mr Bertram, time presses," said Redhand, interrupting the two friends in the midst of earnest conversation; "we've got a long day before us, and, mayhap, a fight with redskins at the end o't, so it behoves us to make a good breakfast and set off as soon as we can.

We're late enough already."

"Ah, Redhand!" exclaimed March, "you're a terrible fellow for duty an'

business, an' all that sort o' thing. It's always 'time to be off,' or 'time to think o' this or that,' or 'we mustn't put off,' with you. Why won't ye let us take a breathin' spell once in a way to enjoy ourselves, eh?"

The old man pointed to the sun. "You've enjoyed yourself late enough to-day, han't ye?"

"Come, March, you're in a fault-finding humour this morning," said Bertram as they walked towards the camp. "Let's enjoy ourselves in spite of circ.u.mstances. Do you know, I hold it to be exceedingly wise as well as philosophical, to make the best of things at all times."

"Do you?" exclaimed March in a tone of affected surprise; "now that's odd. You must be a real clever fellow to have made up your mind on that point. But somehow or other I'm inclined to think that most o' the trappers hereabouts are as wise as yourself on it, though, mayhap, they don't say it just in the same words. There's Waller, now, as 'll tell ye that when he 'can't help it he guesses he'll jist grin an' bear it.'

And there's an old Irish trapper that's bin in the mountains nigh forty years now, and who's alive at this day--if he bean't dead--that used to say to himself when ill luck came upon him, 'Now, Terence, be aisy, boy; an' av ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as ye can.' So you see, Mr Bertram, we have got a few sparks of wisdom in these diggins."

"Now, then, stop yer feelosophy," cried Bounce, hitching his shoulders so as to induce his light load to take up a more accommodating position.

"Ye didn't use to be a slow feller, March; wot's to do? Ye ain't a-goin' to cave in 'cause we're gettin' nigh the redskins, are ye?"

To this March deigned no reply, but, swinging his bundle over his shoulder, set off at a pace that speedily left his laughing comrades far behind. When, in the course of an hour after, they overtook him, he was discovered lying flat on his back, with his head resting on his bundle, and smoking his pipe with an air of perfect satisfaction.

During the course of that day the trappers walked about thirty miles.

Towards the afternoon they came to a large river, along the banks of which they pursued their way, led by Redhand, who seemed as familiar with the country as if he had dwelt there from infancy. The old trapper's kindly visage was lighted up with a smile of recognition, ever and anon, when some new and striking feature of the landscape opened up to view, as if he had met with and were greeting some personal friend.

He spoke occasionally in a low tone to March, who usually kept close to his side, and pointed to spots which were a.s.sociated in his memory with adventures of various kinds. But Redhand's observations were few. He preferred to listen to the conversations of his comrades, as they plodded steadily along, enlivening their march with many an anecdote and legend.

At last Redhand called a halt, and gazed inquiringly around him, as if in search of some object.

"Wot's up?" inquired Bounce earnestly.

"It was hereabouts, somewhere," muttered Redhand, to himself rather than to his friend; then added quickly, as he threw down his pack, "Ay, there it is--never touched. Now that's what I call luck."

"_Wot's_ luck?" inquired Waller.

"Ah, dat is de keevestion," added Gibault with a look of surprise.

"You must know, lads," said Redhand, turning to his comrades, who observed his movements with considerable astonishment; "you must know, lads, there was an old chap who once trapped beavers up in them parts--"

"Oh! it's a hanikdot," interrupted Big Waller; "then I guess we'd as well sot down." So saying, he seated himself on his bundle and, as a matter of course, proceeded to fill his pipe. The others followed his example, with the exception of Redhand, who remained standing, and of Bertram, who quickly opened his sketch-book, that being the first opportunity he had enjoyed during the day of making an entry therein.

"Right," exclaimed Bounce. "It's allers more feelosophical to sot than to stand--also more ekornomical, 'cause it saves yer moccasins. Go on with yer story, old man."

"It ain't a story," said Redhand; "nor I don't think it can even be called an anecdote. Well, this old chap that once trapped beaver in them parts came down to Pine Point settlement one year with a load o'

furs, sold 'em all off, took a ragin' fever, and died." Redhand paused, and gazed dreamily at the ground.

"I say," observed Bounce seriously, "ain't that wot ye may call raither a short hanikdot--not much in it, eh?"

"But before he died," resumed Redhand without noticing the interruption, "he sent for me an' said: 'Redhand, I'm goin' onder, an' I've got some property as I don't want lost. Ye know Beaver Creek?' 'Yes,' says I, 'every fut of it.' 'Well, then,' says he, 'there's a spot there with three mounds on the right side o' the Creek and a tall poplar in front of 'em.' 'I know it,' says I. 'Well, w'en I last come from that part,'

says he, 'I made a _cache_ at the foot o' that poplar, an' put one or two things in, which it 'ud be a pity to lose--so I give 'em to you, Redhand. I was chased by Injuns at the place, so I couldn't stop to bring 'em away, d'ye see?' 'An' what were the things ye put there?'

said I. But he gave me no answer; his mind began to wander, and he never spoke sense again. Now, lads, this is Beaver Creek, and there stands the poplar in front o' the three mounds."

Redhand pointed to the tree as he spoke, and the others started up with alacrity, for the little touch of romance connected with the incident, combined with their comparatively dest.i.tute condition, and their ignorance of what the concealed treasure might be, powerfully stirred their curiosity.

Arming themselves with strong staves, they began to dig away the earth at the roots of the poplar.

After a few minutes' hard work, Bounce rose to wipe the perspiration from his brow, and said--

"Wot for didn't ye tell us o' this before, Redhand?"

"Because I wasn't sure the _cache_ might not have bin discovered long ago, and I didn't want to risk disappointin' ye."

"Hallo! here's _somethin'_," exclaimed Big Waller, as the point of the stake with which he tore up the earth struck against some hard substance.

"Have a care, boy," cried Bounce, stooping down and clearing away the earth with his hands. "P'r'aps it's easy broken. No--why--it's a keg!"

"So it am," cried Gibault; "p'r'aps it am poudre."

At this moment Big Waller and Bounce gave the keg a violent tug and disentombed it, an operation which proved Gibault's surmise to be wrong, for the shake showed that the contents were liquid. In a moment the plug was driven in, and Bounce, putting his nose to the hole, inhaled the result. He drew back with a look of surprise, and said--

"Brandy!"

"Ha! here is one oder ting," cried Gibault, laying hold of a bundle and dragging it to light. "Vat can dis be?"

The question was soon answered; the string was cut, the leathern cover unrolled, and a considerable quant.i.ty of tobacco was disclosed to the view of the trappers, whose looks showed pretty clearly that this latter discovery was much more agreeable than the former.

After digging deep all round the tree, they came to the conclusion that this was all that the _cache_ contained.

"Now," said Bounce, after some talk in reference to their newly-found treasure, "wot's to be done with dis here keg o' brandy? As for the baccy, we'll carry that along with us, of course, an' if Master Redhand's a liberal feller, we'll help him to smoke it. But the brandy keg's heavy, an' to say truth, I'm not much inclined for it. I never wos fond o' fire-water."

"If you'd allow me, friends, to suggest," said Bertram, whose experience among trappers in other regions had convinced him that spirits was a most undesirable commodity, "I would recommend that you should throw this brandy away. I never saw good come of it. We do not require it for health, neither do we for sickness. Let us throw it away, my friends; it is a dangerous and deceitful foe."

"Mais, monsieur," interposed Gibault with a rueful countenance; "you speak de trooth; but though hims be dangereux an' ver' bad for drink oftin, yet ven it be cold vedder, it doo varm de c.o.kils of de hart!"

Big Waller laughed vociferously at this. "I guess Gibault's right,"

said he, "it 'ud be a powerful shame to fling it away."

"Well, lads," said Redhand, "it's evident that we can't drink it just now, for it would unsteady our hands for the work we have to do this night. It's also clear we can't carry it with us on a war expedition; so I propose that we should put it where we found it an' come back for it when we've done wi' the redskins."

This plan was finally agreed to; the keg was reburied at the foot of the poplar, and the party continued their journey, carrying the much-prized tobacco along with them.

The sun was still blazing above the mountains in the west, tingeing their snowy spires with rosy red, when the trappers came upon the first indication of the neighbourhood of Indians in the shape of recent footprints and cuttings in the woods. A large canoe was also found lying bottom up on the bank of the creek. This Redhand examined, and found it to be in good condition, although, from the marks in the vicinity, it was evident that it had not been recently used.

Men who spend their lives in the backwoods of America are celebrated for the closeness with which they observe every object and circ.u.mstance which happens to pa.s.s within the range of their perceptions. This habit and acuteness of observation is the result of necessity. The trapper and the Red Indian are alike dependent very much on this faculty for their sustenance and for their safety. Surrounded as they are by perils of every kind, their eyes and ears are constantly on the alert, as they pa.s.s through the pathless wilderness on the hunt or on the war trail.

No object within the range of vision is pa.s.sed with indifference.