Book: The Young Fur Traders

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




"What can that be?" exclaimed the former, pointing with his whip to a
distant object which was moving rapidly over the plain.

"Eh! what--where?" said Mr. Kennedy, shading his eyes with his hand,
and peering in the direction indicated. "Why, that's another wolf,
isn't it? No; it runs too fast for that."

"Strange," said his friend; "what _can_ it be?"

"If I hadn't seen every beast in the country," remarked Mr. Kennedy,
"and didn't know that there are no such animals north of the equator,
I should say it was a mad dromedary mounted by a ring-tailed roarer."

"It can't be surely--not possible!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "It's not
Charley on the new horse!"

Mr. Grant said this with an air of vexation that annoyed his friend a
little. He would not have much minded Charley's taking a horse
without leave, no matter how wild it might be; but he did not at all
relish the idea of making an apology for his son's misconduct, and
for the moment did not exactly know what to say. As usual in such a
dilemma, the old man took refuge in a towering passion, gave his
steed a sharp cut with the whip, and galloped forward to meet the
delinquent.

We are not acquainted with the general appearance of a "ring-tailed
roarer;" in fact, we have grave doubts as to whether such an animal
exists at all; but if it does, and is particularly wild, dishevelled,
and fierce in deportment, there is no doubt whatever that when Mr.
Kennedy applied the name to his hopeful son, the application was
singularly powerful and appropriate.

Charley had had a long run since we last saw him. After describing a
wide curve, in which his charger displayed a surprising aptitude for
picking out the ground that was least covered with snow, he headed
straight for the fort again at the same pace at which he had started.
At first Charley tried every possible method to check him, but in
vain; so he gave it up, resolving to enjoy the race, since he could
not prevent it. The young horse seemed to be made of lightning, with
bones and muscles of brass; for he bounded untiringly forward for
miles, tossing his head and snorting in his wild career. But Charley
was a good horseman, and did not mind _that_ much, being quite
satisfied that the horse _was_ a horse and not a spirit, and that
therefore he could not run for ever. At last he approached the party,
in search of which he had originally set out. His eyes dilated and
his colour heightened as he beheld the wolf running directly towards
him. Fumbling hastily for the pistol which he had borrowed from his
friend Harry, he drew it from his pocket, and prepared to give the
animal a shot in passing. Just at that moment the wolf caught sight
of this new enemy in advance, and diverged suddenly to the left,
plunging into a drift in his confusion, and so enabling the senior
clerk to overtake him, and send an ounce of heavy shot into his side,
which turned him over quite dead. The shot, however had a double
effect. At that instant Charley swept past; and his mettlesome steed
swerved as it heard the loud report of the gun, thereby almost
unhorsing his rider, and causing him unintentionally to discharge the
conglomerate of bullets and swan-shot into the flank of Peter
Mactavish's horse--fortunately at a distance which rendered the shot
equivalent to a dozen very sharp and particularly stinging blows. On
receiving this unexpected salute, the astonished charger reared
convulsively, and fell back upon his rider, who was thereby buried
deep in the snow, not a vestige of him being left, no more than if he
had never existed at all. Indeed, for a moment it seemed to be
doubtful whether poor Peter _did_ exist or not, until a sudden
upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled head appeared,
with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them an expression of
mingled horror and amazement. Meanwhile the second shot acted like a
spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr. Kennedy like a
whirlwind.

"Stop, you young scoundrel!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley
as he passed.

Charley was past stopping, either by inclination or ability. This
sudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him.
As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight out
behind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched,
and his horse tearing along more like an incarnate fiend than an
animal, a spirit of combined recklessness, consternation,
indignation, and glee took possession of him. He waved his whip
wildly over his head, brought it down with a stinging cut on the
horse's neck, and uttered a shout of defiance that threw completely
into the shade the loudest war-whoop that was ever uttered by the
brazen lungs of the wildest savage between Hudson's Bay and Oregon.
Seeing and hearing this, old Mr. Kennedy wheeled about and dashed off
in pursuit with much greater energy than he had displayed in chase of
the wolf.

The race bid fair to be a long one, for the young horse was strong in
wind and limb; and the gray mare, though decidedly not "the better
horse," was much fresher than the other.

The hunters, who were now joined by Harry Somerville, did not feel it
incumbent on them to follow this new chase; so they contented
themselves with watching their flight towards the fort, while they
followed at a more leisurely pace.

Meanwhile Charley rapidly neared Fort Garry, and now began to wonder
whether the stable door was open, and if so, whether it were better
for him to take his chance of getting his neck broken, or to throw
himself into the next snow-drift that presented itself.

He had not to remain long in suspense. The wooden fence that enclosed
the stable-yard lay before him. It was between four and five feet
high, with a beaten track running along the outside, and a deep snow-
drift on the other. Charley felt that the young horse had made up his
mind to leap this. As he did not at the moment see that there was
anything better to be done, he prepared for it. As the horse bent on
his haunches to spring, he gave him a smart cut with the whip, went
over like a rocket, and plunged up to the neck in the snow-drift;
which brought his career to an abrupt conclusion. The sudden stoppage
of the horse was _one_ thing, but the arresting of Master Charley was
_another_ and quite a different thing. The instant his charger
landed, he left the saddle like a harlequin, described an extensive
curve in the air, and fell head foremost into the drift, above which
his boots and three inches of his legs alone remained to tell the
tale.

On witnessing this climax, Mr. Kennedy, senior, pulled up,
dismounted, and ran--with an expression of some anxiety on his
countenance--to the help of his son, while Tom Whyte came out of the
stable just in time to receive the "noo 'oss" as he floundered out of
the snow.

"I believe," said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger,
"that your son has broke the noo 'oss, sir, better nor I could 'ave
done myself."

"I believe that my son has broken his neck," said Mr. Kennedy
wrathfully. "Come here and help me to dig him out."

In a few minutes Charley was dug out, in a state of insensibility,
and carried up to the fort, where he was laid on a bed, and
restoratives actively applied for his recovery.




CHAPTER V.

Peter Mactavish becomes an amateur doctor; Charley promulgates his
views of tilings in general to Kate; and Kate waxes sagacious.


Shortly after the catastrophe just related, Charley opened his eyes
to consciousness, and aroused himself out of a prolonged fainting
fit, under the combined influence of a strong constitution and the
medical treatment of his friends.

Medical treatment in the wilds of North America, by the way, is very
original in its character, and is founded on principles so vague that
no one has ever been found capable of stating them clearly. Owing to
the stubborn fact that there are no doctors in the country, men have
been thrown upon their own resources, and as a natural consequence
_every_ man is a doctor. True, there _are_ two, it may be three, real
doctors in the Hudson's Bay Company's employment; but as one of these
is resident on the shores of Hudson's Bay, another in Oregon, and a
third in Red River Settlement, they are not considered available for
every case of emergency that may chance to occur in the hundreds of
little outposts, scattered far and wide over the whole continent of
North America, with miles and miles of primeval wilderness between
each. We do not think, therefore, that when we say there are _no_
doctors in the country, we use a culpable amount of exaggeration.

If a man gets ill, he goes on till he gets better; and if he doesn't
get better, he dies. To avert such an undesirable consummation,
desperate and random efforts are made in an amateur way. The old
proverb that "extremes meet" is verified. And in a land where no
doctors are to be had for love or money, doctors meet you at every
turn, ready to practise on everything, with anything, and all for
nothing, on the shortest possible notice. As maybe supposed, the
practice is novel, and not unfrequently extremely wild. Tooth-drawing
is considered child's play--mere blacksmith's work; bleeding is a
general remedy for everything, when all else fails; castor-oil, Epsom
salts, and emetics are the three keynotes, the foundations, and the
copestones of the system.

In Red River there is only one _genuine_ doctor; and as the
settlement is fully sixty miles long, he has enough to do, and cannot
always be found when wanted, so that Charley had to rest content with
amateur treatment in the meantime. Peter Mactavish was the first to
try his powers. He was aware that laudanum had the effect of
producing sleep, and seeing that Charley looked somewhat sleepy after
recovering consciousness, he thought it advisable to help out that
propensity to slumber, and went to the medicine-chest, whence he
extracted a small phial of tincture of rhubarb, the half of which he
emptied into a wine-glass, under the impression that it was laudanum,
and poured down Charley's throat! The poor boy swallowed a little,
and sputtered the remainder over the bedclothes. It may be remarked
here that Mactavish was a wild, happy, half-mad sort of fellow--
wonderfully erudite in regard to some things, and profoundly ignorant
in regard to others. Medicine, it need scarcely be added, was not his
_forte_. Having accomplished this feat to his satisfaction, he sat
down to watch by the bedside of his friend. Peter had taken this
opportunity to indulge in a little private practice just after
several of the other gentlemen had left the office, under the
impression that Charley had better remain quiet for a short time.

"Well, Peter," whispered Mr. Kennedy, senior, putting his head in at
the door (it was Harry's room in which Charley lay), "how is he now?"

"Oh! doing capitally," replied Peter, in a hoarse whisper, at the
same time rising and entering the office, while he gently closed the
door behind him. "I gave him a small dose of physic, which I think
has done mm good. He's sleeping like a top now."

Mr. Kennedy frowned slightly, and made one or two remarks in
reference to physic which were not calculated to gratify the ears of
a physician.

"What did you give him?" he inquired abruptly.

"Only a little laudanum."

"_Only,_ indeed! it's all trash together, and that's the worst kind
of trash you could have given him. Humph!" and the old gentleman
jerked his shoulders testily.

"How much did yon give him?" said the senior clerk, who had entered
the apartment with Harry a few minutes before.

"Not quite a wineglassful," replied Peter, somewhat subdued.

"A what!" cried the father, starting from his chair as if he had
received an electric shock, and rushing into the adjoining room, up
and down which he raved in a state of distraction, being utterly
ignorant of what should be done under the circumstances.

Poor Harry Somerville fell rather than leaped off his stool, and
dashed into the bedroom, where old Mr. Kennedy was occupied in
alternately heaping unutterable abuse on the head of Peter Mactavish,
and imploring him to advise what was best to be done. But Peter knew
not. He could only make one or two insane proposals to roll Charley
about the floor, and see if _that_ would do him any good; while Harry
suggested in desperation that he should be hung by the heels, and
perhaps it would run out!

Meanwhile the senior clerk seized his hat, with the intention of
going in search of Tom Whyte, and rushed out at the door; which he
had no sooner done than he found himself tightly embraced in the arms
of that worthy, who happened to be entering at the moment, and who,
in consequence of the sudden onset, was pinned up against the wall of
the porch.

"Oh, my buzzum!" exclaimed Tom, laying his hand on his breast;
"you've a'most bu'st me, sir. W'at's wrong, sir?"

"Go for the doctor, Tom, quick! run like the wind. Take the freshest
horse; fly, Tom, Charley's poisoned--laudanum; quick!"

"'Eavens an' 'arth!" ejaculated the groom, wheeling round, and
stalking rapidly off to the stable like a pair of insane compasses,
while the senior clerk returned to the bedroom, where he found Mr.
Kennedy still raving, Peter Mactavish still aghast and deadly pale,
and Harry Somerville staring like a maniac at his young friend, as if
he expected every moment to see him explode, although, to all
appearance, he was sleeping soundly, and comfortably too,
notwithstanding the noise that was going on around him. Suddenly
Harry's eye rested on the label of the half-empty phial, and he
uttered a loud, prolonged cheer.

"It's only tincture of--"

"Wild cats and furies!" cried Mr. Kennedy, turning sharply round and
seizing Harry by the collar, "why d'you kick up such a row, eh?"

"It's only tincture of rhubarb," repeated the boy, disengaging
himself and holding up the phial triumphantly.

"So it is, I declare," exclaimed Mr. Kennedy, in a tone that
indicated intense relief of mind; while Peter Mactavish uttered a
sigh so deep that one might suppose a burden of innumerable tons
weight had just been removed from his breast.

Charley had been roused from his slumbers by this last ebullition;
but on being told what had caused it, he turned languidly round on
his pillow and went to sleep again, while his friends departed and
left him to repose.

Tom Whyte failed to find the doctor. The servant told him that her
master had been suddenly called to set a broken leg that morning for
a trapper who lived ten miles _down_ the river, and on his return had
found a man waiting with a horse and cariole, who carried him
violently away to see his wife, who had been taken suddenly ill at a
house twenty miles _up_ the river, and so she didn't expect him back
that night.

"An' where has 'e been took to?" inquired Tom.

She couldn't tell; she knew it was somewhere about the White-horse
Plains, but she didn't know more than that.

"Did 'e not say w'en 'e'd be home?"

"No, he didn't."

"Oh dear!" said Tom, rubbing his long nose in great perplexity. "It's
an 'orrible case o' sudden and onexpected pison."

She was sorry for it, but couldn't help that; and thereupon, bidding
him good-morning, shut the door.

Tom's wits had come to that condition which just precedes "giving it
up" as hopeless, when it occurred to him that he was not far from old
Mr. Kennedy's residence; so he stepped into the cariole again and
drove thither. On his arrival he threw poor Mrs. Kennedy and Kate
into great consternation by his exceedingly graphic, and more than
slightly exaggerated, account of what had brought him in search of
the doctor. At first Mrs. Kennedy resolved to go up to Fort Garry
immediately, but Kate persuaded her to remain at home, by pointing
out that she could herself go, and if anything very serious had
occurred (which she didn't believe), Mr. Kennedy could come down for
her immediately, while she (Kate) could remain to nurse her brother.

In a few minutes Kate and Tom were seated side by side in the little
cariole, driving swiftly up the frozen river; and two hours later the
former was seated by her brother's bedside, watching him as he slept
with a look of tender affection and solicitude.

Rousing himself from his slumbers, Charley looked vacantly round the
room.

"Have you slept well, darling?" inquired Kate, laying her hand
lightly on his forehead.

"Slept--eh! oh yes. I've slept. I say, Kate, what a precious bump I
came down on my head, to be sure!"

"Hush, Charley!" said Kate, perceiving that he was becoming
energetic. "Father said you were to keep quiet--and so do I," she
added, with a frown." Shut your eyes, sir, and go to sleep."

Charley complied by shutting his eyes, and opening his mouth, and
uttering a succession of deep snores.

"Now, you bad boy," said Kate, "why _won't_ you try to rest?"

"Because, Kate, dear/' said Charley, opening his eyes again--"because
I feel as if I had slept a week at least; and not being one of the
seven sleepers, I don't think it necessary to do more in that way
just now. Besides, my sweet but particularly wicked sister, I wish
just at this moment to have a talk with you."

"But are you sure it won't do you harm to talk? do you feel quite
strong enough?"

"Quite: Sampson was a mere infant compared to me."

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, Charley dear, and keep your hands quiet,
and don't lift the clothes with your knees in that way, else I'll go
away and leave you."

"Very well, my pet; if you do, I'll get up and dress and follow you,
that's all! But come, Kate, tell me first of all how it was that I
got pitched off that long-legged rhinoceros, and who it was that
picked me up, and why wasn't I killed, and how did I come here; for
my head is sadly confused, and I scarcely recollect anything that has
happened; and before commencing your discourse, Kate, please hand me
a glass of water, for my mouth is as dry as a whistle."

Kate handed him a glass of water, smoothed his pillow, brushed the
curls gently off his forehead, and sat down on the bedside.

"Thank you, Kate; now go on."

"Well, you see," she began--

"Pardon me, dearest," interrupted Charley, "if you would please to
look at me you would observe that my two eyes are tightly closed, so
that I don't _see_ at all."

"Well, then, you must understand--"

"Must I? Oh!--"

"That after that wicked horse leaped with you over the stable fence,
you were thrown high into the air, and turning completely round, fell
head foremost into the snow, and your poor head went through the top
of an old cask that had been buried there all winter."

"Dear me!" ejaculated Charley; "did anyone see me, Kate?"

"Oh yes."

"Who?" asked Charley, somewhat anxiously; "not Mrs. Grant, I hope?
for if she did she'd never let me hear the last of it."

"No; only our father, who was chasing you at the time," replied Kate,
with a merry laugh.

"And no one else?"

"No--oh yes, by-the-by, Tom Whyte was there too."

"Oh, he's nobody. Go on."

"But tell me, Charley, why do you care about Mrs. Grant seeing you?"

"Oh! no reason at all, only she's such an abominable quiz."

We must guard the reader here against the supposition that Mrs. Grant
was a quiz of the ordinary kind. She was by no means a sprightly,
clever woman, rather fond of a joke than otherwise, as the term might
lead you to suppose. Her corporeal frame was very large, excessively
fat, and remarkably unwieldy; being an appropriate casket in which to
enshrine a mind of the heaviest and most sluggish nature. She spoke
little, ate largely, and slept much--the latter recreation being very
frequently enjoyed in a large arm-chair of a peculiar kind. It had
been a water-butt, which her ingenious husband had cut half-way down
the middle, then half-way across, and in the angle thus formed fixed
a bottom, which, together with the back, he padded with tow, and
covered the whole with a mantle of glaring bed-curtain chintz, whose
pattern alternated in stripes of sky-blue and china roses, with
broken fragments of the rainbow between. Notwithstanding her
excessive slowness, however, Mrs, Grant was fond of taking a firm
hold of anything or any circumstance in the character or affairs of
her friends, and twitting them thereupon in a grave but persevering
manner that was exceedingly irritating. No one could ever ascertain
whether Mrs. Grant did this in a sly way or not, as her visage never
expressed anything except unalterable good-humour. She was a good
wife and an affectionate mother; had a family of ten children, and
could boast of never having had more than one quarrel with her
husband. This disagreement was occasioned by a rather awkward
mischance. One day, not long after her last baby was born, Mrs. Grant
waddled towards her tub with the intention of enjoying her accustomed
siesta. A few minutes previously, her seventh child, which was just
able to walk, had scrambled up into the seat and fallen fast asleep
there. As has been already said, Mrs. Grant's intellect was never
very bright, and at this particular time she was rather drowsy, so
that she did not observe the child, and on reaching her chair, turned
round preparatory to letting herself plump into it. She always
_plumped_ into her chair. Her muscles were too soft to lower her
gently down into it. Invariably on reaching a certain point they
ceased to act, and let her down with a crash. She had just reached
this point, and her baby's hopes and prospects were on the eve of
being cruelly crushed for ever, when Mr. Grant noticed the impending
calamity. He had no time to warn her, for she had already passed the
point at which her powers of muscular endurance terminated; so
grasping the chair, he suddenly withdrew it with such force that the
baby rolled off upon the floor like a hedgehog, straightened out
flat, and gave vent to an outrageous roar, while its horror-struck
mother came to the ground with a sound resembling the fall of an
enormous sack of wool. Although the old lady could not see exactly
that there was anything very blameworthy in her husband's conduct on
this occasion, yet her nerves had received so severe a shock that she
refused to be comforted for two entire days.

But to return from this digression. After Charley had two or three
times recommended Kate (who was a little inclined to be quizzical) to
proceed, she continued,--

"Well, then you were carried up here by father and Tom Whyte, and put
to bed, and after a good deal of rubbing and rough treatment you were
got round. Then Peter Mactavish nearly poisoned you, but fortunately
he was such a goose that he did not think of reading the label of the
phial, and so gave you a dose of tincture of rhubarb instead of
laudanum as he had intended; and then father flew into a passion, and
Tom Whyte was sent to fetch the doctor, and couldn't find him; but
fortunately he found me, which was much better, I think, and brought
me up here. And so here I am, and here I intend to remain."

"And so that's the end of it. Well, Kate, I'm very glad it was no
worse."

"And I am very _thankful_" said Kate, with emphasis on the word,
"that it's no worse."

"Oh, well, you know, Kate, I _meant_ that, of course."

"But you did not _say_ it," replied his sister earnestly.

"To be sure not," said Charley gaily; "it would be absurd to be
always making solemn speeches, and things of that sort, every time
one has a little accident."

"True, Charley; but when one has a very serious accident, and escapes
unhurt, don't you think that _then_ it would be--"

"Oh yes, to be sure," interrupted Charley, who still strove to turn
Kate from her serious frame of mind; "but sister dear, how could I
possibly _say_ I was thankful with my head crammed into an old cask
and my feet pointing up to the blue sky, eh?"

Kate smiled at this, and laid her hand on his arm, while she bent
over the pillow and looked tenderly into his eyes.

"O my darling Charley, you are disposed to jest about it; but I
cannot tell you how my heart trembled this morning when I heard from
Tom Whyte of what had happened. As we drove up to the fort, I thought
how terrible it would have been if you had been killed; and then the
happy days we have spent together rushed into my mind, and I thought
of the willow creek where we used to fish for gold eyes, and the spot
in the woods where we have so often chased the little birds, and the
lake in the prairies where we used to go in spring to watch the
water-fowl sporting in the sunshine. When I recalled these things,
Charley, and thought of you as dead, I felt as if I should die too.
And when I came here and found that my fears were needless, that you
were alive and safe, and almost well, I felt thankful--yes, very,
very thankful--to God for sparing your life, my dear, dear Charley."
And Kate laid her head on his bosom and sobbed, when she thought of
what might have been, as if her very heart would break.

Charley's disposition to levity entirely vanished while his sister
spoke; and twining his tough little arm round her neck, he pressed
her fervently to his heart.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.