Book: The Young Fur Traders

R >> R.M. Ballantyne >> The Young Fur Traders




"O dear papa!" exclaimed Kate.

"Really, my dear," cried Mr. Kennedy, half angry and half ashamed,"
we must get rid of that brute immediately. It has scarcely been a
week here, and it has done more mischief already than a score of
ordinary cats would have done in a twelvemonth."

"But then the mice, papa--"

"Well, but--but--oh, hang the mice!"

"Yes; but how are we to catch them?" said Kate.

At this moment the cook, who had heard the sound of breaking
crockery, and judged it expedient that he should be present, opened
the door.

"How now, rascal!" exclaimed his master, striding up to him. "Did I
ring for you, eh?"

"No, sir; but--"

"But! eh, but! no more 'buts,' you scoundrel, else I'll--"

The motion of Mr. Kennedy's fist warned the cook to make a
precipitate retreat, which he did at the same moment that the cat
resolved to run for its life. This caused them to meet in the
doorway, and making a compound entanglement with the mat, they both
fell into the passage with a loud crash. Mr. Kennedy shut the door
gently, and returned to his chair, patting Kate on the head as he
passed.

"Now, darling, go on with what you were saying; and don't mind the
tea-pot--let it lie."

"Well," resumed Kate, with a smile, "I was saying that the next
opportunity Charley can have will be by the brigade in spring, which
we expect to arrive here, you know, a month hence; but we won't get a
letter by that, as I feel convinced that he and Harry will come by it
themselves."

"And the express canoe, Kate--the express canoe," said Mr. Kennedy,
with a contortion of the left side of his head that was intended for
a wink; "you know they got leave to come by express, Kate."

"Oh, as to the express, father, I don't expect them to come by that,
as poor Harry Somerville has been so ill that they would never think
of venturing to subject him to all the discomforts, not to mention
the dangers, of a canoe voyage."

"I don't know that, lass--I don't know that," said Mr. Kennedy,
giving another contortion with his left cheek. "In fact, I shouldn't
wonder if they arrived this very day; and it's well to be on the
look-out, so I'm off to the banks of the river, Kate. "Saying this,
the old gentleman threw on an old fur cap with the peak all awry,
thrust his left hand into his right glove, put on the other with the
back to the front and the thumb in the middle finger, and bustled out
of the house, muttering as he went, "Yes, it's well to be on the
look-out for him."

Mr. Kennedy, however, was disappointed: Charley did not arrive that
day, nor the next, nor the day after that. Nevertheless the old
gentleman's faith each day remained as firm as on the day previous
that Charley would arrive on that day "for certain." About a week
after this, Mr. Kennedy put on his hat and gloves as usual, and
sauntered down to the banks of the river, where his perseverance was
rewarded by the sight of a small canoe rapidly approaching the
landing-place. From the costume of the three men who propelled it,
the cut of the canoe itself, the precision and energy of its
movements, and several other minute points about it only apparent to
the accustomed eye of a nor'-wester, he judged at once that this was
a new arrival, and not merely one of the canoes belonging to the
settlers, many of which might be seen passing up and down the river.
As they drew near he fixed his eyes eagerly upon them.

"Very odd," he exclaimed, while a shade of disappointment passed over
his brow: "it ought to be him, but it's not like him; too big--
different nose altogether. Don't know any of the three. Humph!--well,
he's _sure to come to-morrow, at all events." Having come to the
conclusion that it was not Charley's canoe, he wheeled sulkily round
and sauntered back towards his house, intending to solace himself
with a pipe. At that moment he heard a shout behind him, and ere he
could well turn round to see whence it came, a young man bounded up
the bank and seized him in his arms with a hug that threatened to
dislocate his ribs. The old gentleman's first impulse was to bestow
on his antagonist (for he verily believed him to be such) one of
those vigorous touches with his clinched fist which in days of yore
used to bring some of his disputes to a summary and effectual close;
but his intention changed when the youth spoke.

"Father, dear, dear father!" said Charley, as he loosened his grasp,
and, still holding him by both hands, looked earnestly into his face
with swimming eyes.

Old Mr. Kennedy seemed to have lost his powers of speech. He gazed at
his son for a few seconds in silence--then suddenly threw his arms
around him and engaged in a species of wrestle which he intended for
an embrace.

"O Charley, my boy! "you've come at last--God bless you! Let's look
at you. Quite changed: six feet; no, not quite changed--the old nose;
black as an Indian. O Charley, my dear boy! I've been waiting for you
for months; why did you keep me so long, eh? Hang it, where's my
handkerchief?" At tis last exclamation Mr. Kennedy's feelings quite
overcame him; his full heart overflowed at his eyes, so that when he
tried to look at his son, Charley appeared partly magnified and
partly broken up into fragments. Fumbling in his pocket for the
missing handkerchief, which he did not find, he suddenly seized his
fur cap, in a burst of exasperation, and wiped his eyes with that.
Immediately after, forgetting that it _was a cap he thrust it into
his pocket.

"Come, dear father," cried Charley, drawing the old man's arm through
his, "let us go home. Is Kate there?"

"Ay, ay," cried Mr. Kennedy, waving his hand as he was dragged away,
and bestowing, quite unwittingly, a back-handed slap on the cheek to
Harry Somerville--which nearly felled that youth to the ground. "Ay,
ay! Kate, to be sure, darling. Yes, quite right, Charley; a pipe--
that's it, my boy, let's have a pipe!" And thus, uttering coherent
and broken sentences, he disappeared through the doorway with his
long-lost and now recovered son.

Meanwhile Harry and Jacques continued to pace quietly before the
house, waiting patiently until the first ebullition of feeling, at
the meeting of Charley with his father and sister, should be over. In
a few minutes Charley ran out.

"Hollo, Harry! come in, my boy; forgive my forgetfulness, but--"

"My dear fellow," interrupted Harry, "what nonsense you are talking!
Of course you forgot me, and everybody and everything on earth, just
now; but have you seen Kate? is--"

"Yes, yes," cried Charley, as he pushed his friend before him, and
dragged Jacques after him into the parlour.--"Here's Harry, father,
and Jacques.--You've heard of Jacques, Kate?"

"Harry, my, dear boy;" cried Mr. Kennedy, seizing his young friend by
the hand; "how are you, lad? Better, I hope."

At that moment Mr. Kennedy's eye fell on Jacques, who stood in the
doorway, cap in hand, with the usual quiet smile lighting up his
countenance.

"What! Jacques--Jacques Caradoc!" he cried, in astonishment.

"The same, sir; you an' I have know'd each other afore now in the way
o' trade," answered the hunter, as he grasped his old bourgeois by
the hand and wrung it warmly. Mr. Kennedy, senior, was so overwhelmed
by the combination of exciting influences to which he was now
subjected, that he plunged his hand into his pocket for the
handkerchief again, and pulled out the fur hat instead, which he
flung angrily at the cat; then using the sleeve of his coat as a
substitute, he proceeded to put a series of abrupt questions to
Jacques and Charley simultaneously.

In the meantime Harry went up to Kate and _stared_ at her. We do not
mean to say that he was intentionally rude to her. No! He went
towards her intending to shake hands, and renew acquaintance with his
old companion; but the moment he caught sight of her he was struck
not only dumb, but motionless. The odd part of it was that Kate, too,
was affected in precisely the same way, and both of them exclaimed
mentally, "Can it be possible?" Their lips, however, gave no
utterance to the question. At length Kate recollected herself, and
blushing deeply, held out her hand, as she said,--

"Forgive me, Har--Mr. Somerville; I was so surprised at your altered
appearance, I could scarcely believe that my old friend stood before
me."

Harry's cheeks crimsoned as he seized her hand and said: "Indeed,
Ka--a--Miss--that is, in fact, I've been very ill, and doubtless have
changed somewhat; but the very same thought struck me in regard to
yourself, you are so--so--"

Fortunately for Harry, who was gradually becoming more and more
confused, to the amusement of Charley, who had closely observed the
meeting of his friend and sister, Mr. Kennedy came up.

"Eh! what's that? What did you say _struck_ you, Harry, my lad?"

"_You_ did, father, on his arrival," replied Charley, with a broad
grin, "and a very neat back-hander it was."

"Nonsense, Charley," interrupted Harry, with a laugh.--"I was just
saying, sir, that Miss Kennedy is so changed that I could hardly
believe it to be herself."

"And I had just paid Mr. Somerville the same compliment, papa," cried
Kate, laughing and blushing simultaneously.

Mr. Kennedy thrust his hands into his pockets, frowned portentously
as he looked from one to the other, and said slowly, "_Miss_ Kennedy,
_Mr._ Somerville!" then turning to his son, remarked, "That's
something new, Charley, lad; that girl is _Miss_ Kennedy, and that
youth there is _Mr._ Somerville!"

Charley laughed loudly at this sally, especially when the old
gentleman followed it up with a series of contortions of the left
cheek, meant for violent winking.

"Right, father, right; it won't do here. We don't know anybody but
Kate and Harry in this house."

Harry laughed in his own genuine style at this.

"Well, Kate be it, with all my heart," said he; "but, really, at
first she seemed so unlike the Kate of former days that I could not
bring myself to call her so."

"Humph!" said Mr. Kennedy. "But come, boys, with me to my smoking-
room, and let's have a talk over a pipe, while Kate looks after
dinner." Giving Charley another squeeze of the hand, and Harry a pat
on the shoulder, the old gentleman put on his cap (with the peak
behind), and led the way to his glass divan in the garden.

It is perhaps unnecessary for us to say that Kate Kennedy and Harry
Somerville had, within the last hour, fallen deeply, hopelessly,
utterly, irrevocably, and totally in love with each other. They did
not merely fall up to the ears in love. To say that they fell over
head and ears in it would be, comparatively speaking, to say nothing.
In fact, they did not fall into it at all. They went deliberately
backwards, took a long race, sprang high into the air, turned
completely round, and went down head first into the flood, descending
to a depth utterly beyond the power of any deep-sea lead to fathom,
or of any human mind adequately to appreciate. Up to that day Kate
had thought of Harry as the hilarious youth who used to take every
opportunity he could of escaping from the counting-room and hastening
to spend the afternoon in rambling through the woods with her and
Charley. But the instant she saw him a man, with a bright, cheerful
countenance, on which rough living and exposure to frequent peril had
stamped unmistakable lines of energy and decision, and to which
recent illness had imparted a captivating touch of sadness--the
moment she beheld this, and the undeniable scrap of whisker that
graced his cheeks, and the slight _shade_ that rested on his upper
lip, her heart leaped violently into her throat, where it stuck hard
and fast, like a stranded ship on a lee-shore.

In like manner, when Harry beheld his former friend a woman, with
beaming eyes and clustering ringlets and--(there, we won't attempt
it!)--in fact, surrounded by every nameless and namable grace that
makes woman exasperatingly delightful, his heart performed the same
eccentric movement, and he felt that his fate was sealed; that he had
been sucked into a rapid which was too strong even for his expert and
powerful arm to contend against, and that he must drift with the
current now, _nolens volens, and run it as he best could.

When Kate retired to her sleeping-apartment that night, she
endeavoured to comport herself in her usual manner; but all her
efforts failed. She sat down on her bed, and remained motionless for
half-an-hour; then she started and sighed deeply; then she smiled and
opened her Bible, but forgot to read it; then she rose hastily,
sighed again, took off her gown, hung it up on a peg, and returning
to the dressing-table sat down on her best bonnet; then she cried a
little, at which point the candle suddenly went out; so she gave a
slight scream, and at last went to bed in the dark.

Three hours afterwards, Harry Somerville, who had been enjoying a
cigar and a chat with Charley and his father, rose, and bidding his
friends good-night, retired to his chamber, where he flung himself
down on a chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, stretched out his
legs, gazed abstractedly before him, and exclaimed--"O Kate, my
exquisite girl, you've floored me quite that!"

As he continued to sit in silence, the gaze of affection gradually
and slowly changed into a look of intense astonishment as he beheld
the gray cat sitting comfortably on the table, and regarding him with
a look of complacent interest, as if it thought Harry's style of
addressing it was highly satisfactory--though rather unusual.

"Brute!" exclaimed Harry, springing from his seat and darting towards
it. But the cat was too well accustomed to old Mr. Kennedy's sudden
onsets to be easily taken by surprise. With a bound it reached the
floor, and took shelter under the bed, whence it was not ejected
until Harry, having first thrown his shoes, soap, clothes-brush, and
razor-strop at it, besides two or three books and several
miscellaneous articles of toilet, at last opened the door (a thing,
by the way, that people would do well always to remember before
endeavouring to expel a cat from an impregnable position), and drew
the bed into the middle of the room. Then, but not till then, it
fled, with its back, its tail, its hair, its eyes--in short, its
entire body--bristling in rampant indignation. Having dislodged the
enemy, Harry replaced the bed, threw off his coat and waistcoat,
untied his neckcloth, sat down on his chair again, and fell into a
reverie; from which, after half-an-hour, he started, clasped his
hands, stamped his foot, glared up at the ceiling, slapped his thigh,
and exclaimed, in the voice of a hero, "Yes, I'll do it, or die!"




CHAPTER XXIX.

The first day at home--A gallop in the prairie, and its consequences.


Next morning, as the quartette were at breakfast, Mr. Kennedy,
senior, took occasion to propound to his son the plans he had laid
down for them during the next week.

"In the first place, Charley, my boy," said he, as well as a large
mouthful of buffalo steak and potato would permit, "you must drive up
to the fort and report yourself. Harry and I will go with you; and
after we have paid our respects to old Grant (another cup of tea,
Kate, my darling)--you recollect him, Charley, don't you?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, then, after we've been to see him, we'll drive down the river,
and call on our friends at the mill. Then we'll look in on the
Thomsons; and give a call, in passing, on old Neverin--he's always
out, so he'll be pleased to hear we were there, and it won't detain
us. Then---"

"But, dear father--excuse my interrupting you--Harry and I are very
anxious to spend our first day at home entirely with you and Kate.
Don't you think it would be more pleasant? and then, to-morrow--"

"Now, Charley, this is too bad of you," said Mr. Kennedy, with a look
of affected indignation: "no sooner have you come back than you're at
your old tricks, opposing and thwarting your father's wishes."

"Indeed, I do not wish to do so, father," replied Charley, with a
smile; "but I thought that you would like my plan better yourself,
and that it would afford us an opportunity of having a good long,
satisfactory talk about all that concerns us, past, present, and
future."

"What a daring mind you have, Charley," said Harry, "to speak of
cramming a _satisfactory_ talk of the past, the present, and the
future all into _one_ day!"

"Harry will take another cup of tea, Kate," said Charley, with an
arch smile, as he went on,--

"Besides, father, Jacques tells me that he means to go off
immediately, to visit a number of his old voyageur friends in the
settlement, and I cannot part with him till we have had one more
canter together over the prairies. I want to show him to Kate, for
he's a great original."

"Oh, that _will_ be charming!" cried Kate. "I should like of all
things to be introduced to the bold hunter.--Another cup of tea, Mr.
S-Harry, I mean?"

Harry started on being thus unexpectedly addressed. "Yes, if you
please--that is--thank you--no, my cup's full already, Kate!"

"Well, well," broke in Mr. Kennedy, senior, "I see you're all leagued
against me, so I give in. But I shall not accompany you on your ride,
as my bones are a little stiffer than they used to be" (the old
gentleman sighed heavily), "and riding far knocks me up; but I've got
business to attend to in my glass house which will occupy me till
dinner-time."

"If the business you speak of," began Charley, "is not incompatible
with a cigar, I shall be happy to--"

"Why, as to that, the business itself has special reference to
tobacco, and, in fact, to nothing else; so come along, you young
dog," and the old gentleman's cheek went into violent convulsions as
he rose, put on his cap, with the peak very much over one eye, and
went out in company with the young men.

An hour afterwards four horses stood saddled and bridled in front of
the house. Three belonged to Mr. Kennedy; the fourth had been
borrowed from a neighbour as a mount for Jacques Caradoc. In a few
minutes more Harry lifted Kate into the saddle, and having arranged
her dress with a deal of unnecessary care, mounted his nag. At the
same moment Charley and Jacques vaulted into their saddles, and the
whole cavalcade galloped down the avenue that led to the prairie,
followed by the admiring gaze of Mr. Kennedy, senior, who stood in
the doorway of his mansion, his hands in his vest pockets, his head
uncovered, and his happy visage smiling through a cloud of smoke that
issued from his lips. He seemed the very personification of jovial
good-humour, and what one might suppose Cupid would become were he
permitted to grow old, dress recklessly, and take to smoking!

The prairies were bright that morning, and surpassingly beautiful.
The grass looked greener than usual, the dew-drops more brilliant as
they sparkled on leaf and blade and branch in the rays of an
unclouded sun. The turf felt springy, and the horses, which were
first-rate animals, seemed to dance over it, scarce crushing the
wild-flowers beneath their hoofs, as they galloped lightly on, imbued
with the same joyous feeling that filled the hearts of their riders.
The plains at this place were more picturesque than in other parts,
their uniformity being broken up by numerous clumps of small trees
and wild shrubbery, intermingled with lakes and ponds of all sizes,
which filled the hollows for miles round--temporary sheets of water
these, formed by the melting snow, that told of winter now past and
gone. Additional animation and life was given to the scene by flocks
of water-fowl, whose busy cry and cackle in the water, or whirring
motion in the air, gave such an idea of joyousness in the brute
creation as could not but strike a chord of sympathy in the heart of
a man, and create a feeling of gratitude to the Maker of man and
beast. Although brilliant and warm, the sun, at least during the
first part of their ride, was by no means oppressive; so that the
equestrians stretched out at full gallop for many miles over the
prairie, round the lakes and through the bushes, ere their steeds
showed the smallest symptoms of warmth.

During the ride Kate took the lead, with Jacques on her left and
Harry on her right, while Charley brought up the rear, and conversed
in a loud key with all three. At length Kate began to think it was
just possible the horses might be growing wearied with the slapping
pace, and checked her steed; but this was not an easy matter, as the
horse seemed to hold quite a contrary opinion, and showed a desire
not only to continue but to increase its gallop--a propensity that
induced Harry to lend his aid by grasping the rein and compelling the
animal to walk.

"That's a spirited horse, Kate," said Charley, as they ambled along;
"have you had him long?"

"No," replied Kate; "our father purchased him just a week before your
arrival, thinking that you would likely want a charger now and then.
I have only been on him once before.--Would he make a good buffalo-
runner, Jacques?"

"Yes, miss; he would make an uncommon good runner," answered the
hunter, as he regarded the animal with a critical glance--"at least
if he don't shy at a gunshot."

"I never tried his nerves in that way," said Kate, with a smile;
"perhaps he would shy at _that_. He has a good deal of spirit--oh, I
do dislike a lazy horse, and I do delight in a spirited one!" Kate
gave her horse a smart cut with the whip, half involuntarily, as she
spoke. In a moment it reared almost perpendicularly, and then bounded
forward; not, however, before Jacques's quick eye had observed the
danger, and his ever-ready hand arrested its course.

"Have a care, Miss Kate," he said, in a warning voice, while he gazed
in the face of the excited girl with a look of undisguised
admiration. "It don't do to wallop a skittish beast like that."

"Never fear, Jacques," she replied, bending forward to pat her
charger's arching neck; "see, he is becoming quite gentle again."

"If he runs away, Kate, we won't be able to catch you again, for he's
the best of the four, I think," said Harry, with an uneasy glance at
the animal's flashing eye and expanded nostrils.

"Ay, it's as well to keep the whip off him," said Jacques. "I know'd
a young chap once in St. Louis who lost his sweetheart by usin' his
whip too freely."

"Indeed," cried Kate, with a merry laugh, as they emerged from one of
the numerous thickets and rode out upon the open plain at a foot
pace; "how was that, Jacques? Pray tell us the story."

"As to that, there's little story about it," replied the hunter. "You
see, Tim Roughead took arter his name, an' was always doin' some
mischief or other, which more than once nigh cost him his life; for
the young trappers that frequent St. Louis are not fellows to stand
too much jokin', I can tell ye. Well, Tim fell in love with a gal
there who had jilted about a dozen lads afore; an' bein' an oncommon
handsome, strappin' fellow, she encouraged him a good deal. But Tim
had a suspicion that Louise was rayther sweet on a young
storekeeper's clerk there; so, bein' an off-hand sort o' critter, he
went right up to the gal, and says to her, says he, 'Come, Louise,
it's o' no use humbuggin' with _me_ any longer. If you like me, you
like me; and if you don't like me, you don't. There's only two ways
about it. Now, jist say the word at once, an' let's have an end on't.
If you agree, I'll squat with you in whativer bit o' the States you
like to name; if not, I'll bid you good-bye this blessed mornin', an'
make tracks right away for the Rocky Mountains afore sundown. Ay or
no, lass: which is't to be?'

"Poor Louise was taken all aback by this, but she knew well that Tim
was a man who never threatened in jest, an' moreover she wasn't quite
sure o' the young clerk; so she agreed, an' Tim went off to settle
with her father about the weddin'. Well, the day came, an' Tim, with
a lot o' his comrades, mounted their horses, and rode off to the
bride's house, which was a mile or two up the river out of the town.
Just as they were startin', Tim's horse gave a plunge that well-nigh
pitched him over its head, an' Tim came down on him with a cut o' his
heavy whip that sounded like a pistol-shot. The beast was so mad at
this that it gave a kind o' squeal an' another plunge that burst the
girths. Tim brought the whip down on its flank again, which made it
shoot forward like an arrow out of a bow, leavin' poor Tim on the
ground. So slick did it fly away that it didn't even throw him on his
back, but let him fall sittin'-wise, saddle and all, plump on the
spot where he sprang from. Tim scratched his head an' grinned like a
half-worried rattlesnake as his comrades almost rolled off their
saddles with laughin'. But it was no laughin' job, for poor Tim's leg
was doubled under him, an' broken across at the thigh. It was long
before he was able to go about again, and when he did recover he
found that Louise and the young clerk were spliced an' away to
Kentucky."

"So you see what are the probable consequences, Kate, if you use your
whip so obstreperously again," cried Charley, pressing his horse into
a canter.

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