University of Virginia Library

THE BOIS BRULE.

1. CHAPTER I.

At the time of which we are about to treat, that
is, between the years eighteen hundred and fourteen
and eighteen hundred and twenty, the country
west of the Mississippi, from the fortyninth degree
of latitude to the Frozen Ocean, was the scene of
bitter contention and fierce strife, between two rival
trading companies; the Hudson's Bay, and the
North-west. The former, existing as a body corporate
under a charter granted by the second
Charles to Prince Rupert and others, found its
ancient privileges and possessions invaded by a new
association, which at first supplied the want of experience
by superior energy, and a double share
of activity. It soon acquired an influence over the
Indians, that gave it a considerable advantage in

the trade. Fraud and deception became matters
of boast on both sides, and fortunate would it have
been, had the opposition extended to no greater
excess. But being beyond the reach of law, the
traders came ere long to open hostility, and bloodshed
was the order of the day. The Earl of Selkirk
was at the head of the Hudson's Bay Company,
and whoever is desirous to learn the history of
these dissensions, may read it in a book which that
nobleman gave to the world; though it must be allowed
that the work is partial.

The half breeds of the North-west are physically
a fine race of men. The mixture of blood seems
an improvement on the Indian and the white. By
it, the muscular strength of the one, and the easy
grace, and power of endurance of the other, are
blended. They are the offspring of intermarriages
of the white traders, and their subordinates, with
Indian women. Good boatmen, expert hunters,
and inimitable horsemen, as they all are, they are
sometimes engaged in the service of the actual Indian
traders; but more frequently subsist by fishing,
trapping, and hunting the buffalo. It is impossible
to ascertain their number, so widely are
they scattered; but probably it amounts to four or
five thousands. Each speaks French, and the language
of his mother; or to define more accurately,
of his mother's tribe. They receive just enough
religious instruction from their fathers, to despise
the belief and superstitions of their savage kindred,
but are as ignorant of Christianity as Hottentots.
In manners and morals, they are on a par with the
Indians.

The contending parties found in these people
apt instruments of evil. For small pay they were
ready to act as spies, boatmen, hunters, or banditti;
as they were ordered. If a trader was to
be killed or plundered, or a trading fort attacked,
they were willing and unscrupulous. If a courier
was to be intercepted, they would ease him of his
despatches, and even of his life, when commanded.
If a post was to be established, they could build
log houses, and feed the inmates with buffalo
meat, from one end of the year to the other. The
Scotsmen and Canadians who controlled the trade,
could not have found fitter tools wherewith to
make mischief.

Besides the Indians and half breeds, there are
other inhabitants of the prairies. Canadians, reluctant
to labor, and unwilling to return to places
where the restraints of law and religion are in
force; or perhaps retained in the country by Indian
connexions, mix with the half breeds, and
live the same life. When hired by the traders,
they are termed engagés: when out of employment,
they call themselves `les gens libres,' or free
men. It would seem, from the number of these
last, that ten civilized men degenerate into barbarism,
where one savage is reclaimed from it. Metaphysicians
may speculate upon such a propensity
as much and as long as they please, and devise
means to counteract it; but the fact is thus, and it
is believed, always will be.

This is a long preamble, but in order to a right
understanding of the following story, it will be necessary
to extend it still farther. By some strange

infatuation, the Earl of Selkirk conceived the plan
of establishing a colony at the junction of the Pembinaw
and Red Rivers, at the fortyninth degree of
latitude. For this purpose he sent an agent to
Scotland, and another to Neufchatel in Switzerland,
to procure colonists. A prospectus was
printed, and circulated among the mountaineers of
either country; describing the promised land in
terms that might with more propriety have been
applied to the garden of Eden. The trees, it said,
broke down under the weight of their fruit. The
buffaloes presented themselves at the doors, every
morning, to be killed; and the climate was like
that of the north of Spain, or of the Langue d'Oc.
Not a word of this statement is true. There are
trees on the water courses, indeed; but they are
elms, or such other products of the soil as have
never borne fruit since the days of Adam. There
are buffaloes; but to be eaten, they must be hunted
and killed. The climate is hot enough in summer;
but the summer is brief, and in winter, Siberia
is not colder. That the Scotch and Swiss
ladies might not want an inducement to emigrate,
the prospectus furthermore held forth that `l'on
avoit besoin de cinquante ou cent jeunes femmes,
saines et robustes; pour unir en mariage avec
autant de colons déja etablis.' Deceived by the
missionaries of colonization, and their promises of
assistance, some hundreds came to Hudson's Bay,
and thence to Ossinneboia, as the settlement was
called. There they found their error. The river
rose every spring, and destroyed their plantations;
and such as had ploughed above high water mark,
saw their corn devoured in the milk before their
eyes, by swarms of grasshoppers, more voracious
than the locusts of Egypt. To cap the climax of
their distress, the North-west Company began to
look upon the colony as a part of a deep laid
scheme of Lord Selkirk to ruin their trade, and
threatened the harmless emigrants with fire and
sword.

At this period our story commences. One clear
afternoon in October, a boat might be seen making
its way up the Red River, propelled by six oars,
lustily plied by as many stout Canadians. It was
laden with settlers for Pembinaw. There were a
few men, and about twenty women and children.
Their speech was truly a confusion of tongues:
no two of the families spoke the same language:
one addressed his neighbor in French, and was
answered in German; and a third supported his
share of the conversation in one of the patois dialects
of the Canton of Berne. Add to this, the
voices of some half dozen infants, crying with cold
and hunger, (for the Swiss were beginning to discover
the futility of the promises of his lordship's
agent,) and the description is complete.

Two men stood on the bow of the boat. One
of them, who was clad in a blanket coat, and wore
an otter skin cap, was Governor Semple; on his
way to assume the reins of government over a population
of five hundred souls, the inhabitants of
the flourishing colony of Ossinneboia; in virtue of
powers vested in him by the Earl of Selkirk. His
age might be forty, or upwards, and his features
were indicative of his character; too gentle and

humane to live in such a country, at such a time.
The other was a tall, good looking youth, with
sparkling dark eyes, and coarse, straight hair, as black
as the raven's wing. His somewhat high cheek
bones, and olive complexion, bespoke him of aboriginal
descent, yet he would have been thought
eminently handsome in any part of the civilized
world. He was dressed in the costume of the
bois brulés. [40] His nether man was invested with
a pair of elk skin trowsers, the seams of which
were ornamented with fringes. Over these he
wore a capot, or surtout, of coarse blue cloth,
reaching to the mid leg, and bound round the waist
with a scarlet woollen sash, in which was stuck a
dague, or broad two edged knife, used in that
country to divide the carcass of the buffalo. Buck
skin moccasins, and a capuchon of one piece with
the surtout, completed his attire. He leaned on a
short gun, such as the Indians in that quarter carry,
and waited for Governor Semple to speak.

Roused from his meditations by a shrill cry from
one of the children, that gentleman broke silence.
`William,' said he to the young man, `I trust these
good folk will find accommodations at Pembinaw,
that will make them forget their present hardships.'

`No, sir;' replied the youth, `unless some of
those who are already housed take them in, they
will not find a roof to shelter them. As to food,
their chance is a poor one. When I was at Pembinaw,
three weeks since, the settlers had nothing
to eat but the fish they caught daily from the river.
The ice will soon make, and then they will be deprived
even of that resource.'

`That proves great neglect or mismanagement
in them: there are plenty of cattle in the plains,
and they have had the whole summer to make
pemican [41] and raise corn.'

`With due respect for your better judgment, I
should say it proves no such thing. It proves the
folly, or wickedness of those who have persuaded
them to leave their homes for such a country as
this. They have planted; and the blackbirds [42]
and grasshoppers have reaped the harvest. There
are buffaloes for all the world, but the poor creatures
are not hunters; nor do they know how to
cure the meat when it is killed. If they could all
ride and shoot as well as myself, they have no
horses; and how could they, without the guns and
ammunition that were promised? More than
that, the Indians will not suffer them to hunt: it
is not a month since the Yanktons drove a party
of them in. In these circumstances, I should find
some difficulty to live myself; bois brulé as I am.'

To these reasons, Governor Semple had nothing
to reply. He drew his cap lower over his
brows, and covered his face with his hands. A
moment after, he opened his liquor case, and distributed
brandy to the men, and wine and cordials
to the women.

The young man now left his station in the bow
of the boat, and took his place at the side of a girl
who was busied in tending a sick child. `Flora,'
said he, `for heaven's sake, take more care of
yourself. Give the child to its mother, and let
me throw this cloak over you: it is growing
colder fast.'

`No, William,' replied the lady, in a slightly
Scottish accent; `let me take care of the poor
baby: its mother is unwell, and not able to do it
herself. It would do me more harm, believe me,
to hear their complaints, and witness their sufferings,
than any hardship or privation that I am
likely to undergo.'

`This is but the beginning of their misery. I
am afraid all will suffer bitterly when winter
comes. If your father had had but a little common
sense, you would have been exempt from it.'

`Alas! I know his prejudices too well. Though
you are a Gordon by the father's side, he cannot
overcome his dislike to your Indian blood. For
your own sake, then, seek a fairer and richer bride
than poor Flora Cameron.'

She spoke with evident effort, and turned away
her head to conceal her emotion. We are inclined
to believe that she was not very earnest in
her request, nor displeased at the answer that
followed. Gordon replied, in a whisper, `Forsake
you! may God forsake me if I do! Would
you drive me mad, Flora? When you accepted
the offer of my hand, you were ignorant of my
family, but I know that the discovery has not lowered
me in your opinion. I never sought to deceive
you: I thought my descent was as plainly stamped
on my features, as the mark on the brow of
the first homicide. It seems I was mistaken. If
your heart is still unchanged, why should the folly
of an old dotard sunder us? True, he gave you
life; but did I not save it, and his too? I have
therefore as strong a claim on you, as he. My

blood is tainted, forsooth! ay, that was the rub
always. At the Catholic College, the boys, who
were glad of my assistance at their tasks, called
me “cursed Indian” when we quarrelled. I could
hardly refrain from proving my right to the appellation
with my dirk. And when I became a
man, those who extended their courtesies to
me, did it as though they thought it condescension.
I had even thought to abjure the society
of civilized man, and seek a refuge from his
scorn in the tents of my Assinneboin kindred.
But I saw Flora Cameron, and my purpose was
changed. And having your plighted faith, do you
think I will relinquish it? No, never! I will not
give over the hope of obtaining your hand, till I
hear the command so to do from your own lips.
Seek a fairer bride, indeed! And where can such
be found?'

`Do you think I believe such gross flattery?
Beauty and I are strangers. You must either be
mad, or exercising your wit at my expense. But
why, if you apprehend so much hardship at Pembinaw,
do you make it your place of residence?
You have yet time to return to Montreal before
the cold weather sets in, and I assure you it will
be a consolation to me to know that you are well.
Do not fear for me: if you wish it, I will again
swear to you, never to marry another. Let that
content you; and if you value my good opinion,
do not again speak of my father as you have done.
He is a good man, and it may be that his family
pride will yield to affection; for what love is like
the love of a parent for an only child? Why have

you, contrary to my desire, attached yourself to
my footsteps, to make him doubt me? Why will
you remain in this unhappy land, where cold and
hunger are the least evils? Return to Montreal,
I entreat you.'

`If I have acted contrary to your desire, it was
for your own sake. You are not safe in any part
of this country. You have heard of the outrages
already committed: more, and worse, are to happen.
This winter, some will die of starvation, and
some by violence. Your father cannot follow the
elk and buffalo; but I need not tell you that I am
the best hunter here; even among the half breeds.
My skill shall be exerted for you and your father,
and he shall be indebted to me for life again,
whether he will or not. Do you think I could
enjoy a moment's rest at Montreal, knowing as I
do, that you need support and protection? Flora,
speak to me no more of leaving you.'

`What you say is but too true. We have good
reason to tremble. I have not eaten a morsel today,
and there are women in the boat who need
food more than I.'

`What then have you done with your portion
of the provisions, and with what I added to it?'

`I have given it to these poor famishing women;
but if I had known that what I gave was yours, I
would not have taken it.'

`And have you indeed acted thus? Thank
heaven; there is the track of a buffalo that has
been to the river to drink within the hour! I will
go ashore and try to bring a load of his flesh to
the boat.'

`But William, dear William; do not go far.
Those cruel People of the Pole are abroad; and
if you meet them you will never return. Stay,
stay, I beseech you: I am not at all hungry: I
can fast very well till the next allowance is distributed.'

He did not hear her. He had already commanded
the steersman to set him on shore, and
the latter had cried allume! [43] The half breed
mounted the bank, waved his hand to Flora, and
disappeared.

When the boat had again put off, Mr Semple
called to Flora to take her seat beside him. He
was informed of the attachment between her and
Gordon, and had endeavored to persuade old
Duncan Cameron to consent to their union. The
clansman was deaf to all reasoning on the subject.
`I am a gentleman born,' he said. `The blood
of Lochiel and Sir Evan Dhu runs in my veins,
and it shall not be contaminated with my consent.
The boy is a good boy, and the Gordons are an
ancient and a noble race, but his mother is an insuperable
objection. So, sir, it is of no use to
argue. I cannot consent to it.'

Flora, notwithstanding her disavowal of all pretensions
to beauty, was an uncommonly beautiful
girl, and was as well aware of it as her lover. At
the time when our tale begins, she had seen seventeen
summers. She was such a maiden, in appearance
at least, as the novelists of the last century
usually took for a heroine. Her figure,
though slight, was active, and perfectly symmetrical.
Imagine a neck like a swan's, down which

light hair fell in natural ringlets; a brilliant complexion;
a forehead like Juno's; eyes rather mild
than piercing; a straight and well formed nose;
such a mouth as limners delight to delineate; and
a faultless chin. Then add cheeks indented with
such dimples as Love loves to lurk in: form a
combination of these particulars, and you have a
good picture of Flora Cameron.

Before we proceed farther in this history, we
will give some account of its principal characters.
Duncan Cameron was one of that class denominated
originals. His father, who according to
Highland ideas, was a gentleman, because collaterally
descended from Sir Evan Dhu, had amassed
money enough in his vocation of travelling
packman, or pedlar, to enable him to send young
Duncan to school, and afterwards to the University
of Aberdeen. There the youthful Cameron
made a reasonable progress in the humanities.
But he most delighted to listen to Highland genealogies
and traditions, and the tales of seneachies.
He would go to Luckie M'Laughlin's change
house, in the North Wynd, and having ensconced
himself beyond the reach of interruption, in her
cosey back parlor, he would call for a Scots pint
of Glenlivat, and send for Donald Ben Lean Cameron.
Inspired by the beverage, the piper would
relate to him the traditional glories of the Camerons.
The pedlar's son was by nature enthusiastic,
and his early recollections co-operated with
this intellectual study, to convince him that Scotland
was the first and greatest nation in the world;
the clan Cameron the noblest clan in Scotland;

and himself intimately connected with the honor
of the clan Cameron. His father dying shortly
after he graduated, he found himself in possession
of a thousand pounds sterling. Much and long
did he deliberate how to sustain the dignity of his
name. While he hesitated between physic and
divinity, the blind god stept in and counselled him
to espouse the daughter of a farmer, a tenant of
the Duke of Buccleugh. His father in law was
embarrassed, and Duncan's thousand pounds were
very useful. They managed the farm in tacit
partnership, and the Cameron soon imagined himself
the first agriculturalist in the three kingdoms;
but notwithstanding, nothing that he undertook
succeeded. He would sow wheat on the wettest
soil on the farm, justifying his doings with a quotation
from the Bucolics.

Twentyfive years after, his father in law died.
His wife followed, leaving him a daughter, the sole
fruit of their wedlock. Five years from this event,
poor Duncan was obliged to sell his stock, and
throw up his lease of the farm, to pay his debts.
He found himself with a beautiful girl of fifteen
hanging upon his arm, forty pounds in his pocket,
and

His pride had increased with his poverty. Yet
he had considerable powers of conversation, and
still remembered something of his classical education.
When reduced to his last guinea, he had
the good fortune to be introduced to the Earl of
Selkirk, who after some confabulation, judged
him to be a very proper person to superintend his
infant colony, and to instruct the new comers in
the mysteries of husbandry. He was much of
the same opinion himself. The terms were agreed
upon, and he embarked at Glasgow for Quebec,
where he arrived in due time, without accident.

At Montreal, his situation as homme d'affaires
to his Lordship, and his daughter's beauty, procured
him many attentions from the M'Gillivrays,
M'Leods, and other worthies concerned in the
Indian trade. Many were the swains who sighed
for Miss Cameron. Among these was William
Gordon, with whom our readers are already a little
acquainted. He was introduced to Cameron
as the only son of a half brother of the Marquis of
Huntly, then disputing the inheritance of a considerable
estate, at law, with another member of
the family in Scotland. The young man had been
educated at the Catholic Seminary in Quebec.
His gentlemanly demeanor, and implicit deference
to the opinions of Duncan Cameron, made him a
favorite with the old man; while his polite address,
elegant person, and constant attention, awakened
a stronger feeling in the bosom of his daughter.
With all his good qualities, Flora remarked that
his temperament was melancholy, and that he was
subject to sudden starts of passion. The least
appearance of neglect appeared to cut him to the
soul. Once, in a large company, an outrage
lately committed by an Indian of the St Regis
tribe, was the subject of conversation. A young
Georgian planter, who had visited Montreal for

the benefit of his health, observed, that might he
hazard an opinion, he thought the whole tribe
should be transported to the West Indies as slaves;
and added, that the Aborigines were scarcely entitled
to the rank of human beings, at any rate.

Flora at this moment turned towards William
Gordon, who was standing behind her chair. His
arms were folded across his breast, his teeth
gritted, and he gazed upon the speaker with an
expression of intense ferocity that appalled her
very soul. His eyes gleamed like those of the
rattle-snake, when about to strike. When he saw
that she observed him, his features relaxed, and
he resumed his wonted manner. This did not,
however, prevent her from being as much pleased
as ever with him. Her father remarked their
growing intimacy, and rejoiced. He liked William
Gordon, and judged from the style in which
he lived, that he would be a very suitable partner
for Flora, in a worldly point of view. The youth
had now become a daily visiter at their lodgings.

An occurrence took place, that brought matters
to a crisis. A sleighing party was to go to the
mouth of the Utawas, on the ice, and our friends
were invited to join it. The whole started in high
spirits; Duncan Cameron, with his daughter, taking
the lead, and Gordon following. About two
miles from the city, there was a large open space,
or air hole, in the ice. Cameron was driving his
horse thirty yards above it, at the speed of ten
miles an hour, when suddenly the sleigh and
the persons in it broke through, and were swept
under by the current.

The gentlemen of the party stopped their horses,
and the ladies screamed. All stood aghast.
But Gordon pulled off his boots, cast down his
cloak, and plunged into the hole without saying a
word: the whole passed in a moment. The
frolickers now watched the air hole below, in
breathless anxiety. They had begun to think
that all three had perished, when Gordon emerged,
holding Cameron up by the collar with one
hand, and his daughter by the hair with the other;
both too far exhausted to help themselves in the
least.

As he attempted to gain a footing on the edge
of the ice, it broke away under him, and it seemed
that their death was inevitable. None dared
approach. But luckily two Canadian habitants
were crossing with a horse load of planks. They
hastened to his aid. Laying the boards one at
the end of another, the stronger of the two reached
Gordon, now ready to sink: yet he insisted
that Flora should be the first saved. With little
difficulty, the Canadian raised her upon the ice,
and drew her to a safe distance. He then returned,
and extricated the old man in like
manner; and last of all, Gordon was taken from
the water, chilled almost to death, and unable to
walk or stand. The sufferers were immediately
wrapped in buffalo robes, and conveyed with all
the speed the horses could make, to the city,
where medical aid was instantly procured.

Cameron and his daughter had been insensible
while what we have related took place, but tongues
were not wanting to inform them how they had

been rescued, and to magnify Gordon's gallantry.
That was needless, for he had indeed ran a fearful
risk. In about a week, all three had recovered
from the effects of their submersion.

In a few days, Gordon made a formal proposal
for the hand of Miss Cameron. Her father made
inquiry of Governor Semple, who was known to
be the young man's guardian, concerning his
character. On this point, the Governor's testimony
was in the highest degree satisfactory, but
the fact which he communicated, that Gordon was
a half breed, roused the family pride of the Cameron,
and determined him at once to reject the
suit. At the interview in which this decision was
communicated to Gordon, his indignation and
disappointment broke all restraint; a quarrel ensued,
and the Scot forbade his daughter to hold
any further intercourse with her lover.

She could not obey. Through the instrumentality
of a friend of Gordon, she had an interview
with him, and plighted her word never to
marry another. With this he was obliged to
satisfy himself, for he could not persuade her to
an elopement.

2. CHAPTER II.

The friend mentioned in the last chapter was
a gay, light hearted young Irishman, by name,
Michael Cavenny. He was a clerk in the service
of the Hudson's Bay Company, and was feared
as an opponent by much older traders.

By the advice of Governor Semple, our hero
resolved to go to Assinneboin. His guardian
thought that in that wild country, where the want
of all the luxuries of life must be severely felt, he
would have a better prospect of overcoming
Cameron's opposition than at Montreal.

The same week the bois brulé set out for
Pembinaw. It is needless to relate how he accomplished
the first part of his journey through
the frozen wilderness on snow shoes, or what
savages he encountered withal; but from Fort
William, on the north shore of Lake Superior, he
was attended by two Canadians who knew him
not, nor were they aware that he understood
French, having never heard him speak it.

One of them, by name La Verdure, was a man
of gigantic stature, remarkable for an unnatural
appetite, and a discontented, mutinous disposition.
They carried from Fort William provisions for
four days, relying on their guns and the chance
of meeting with Indians for their further support.
But the snow was deep, and they were too much
lamed by the weight of their snow shoes[44] to
pursue the few deer they saw. For four days
all went well enough, but on the fifth they fasted,
and La Verdure begun to talk to his comrade of
the good cheer they should find at Fort Douglass.
The next day passed in the same manner; not a
hoof nor a horn did they see, nor even a solitary
prairie hen. La Verdure was sullen and silent,
excepting that he occasionally muttered something
about the bourgeois that had sent them so
far into the desert to perish. At times he cast
wolfish, hungry glances at Gordon, but quickly
averted his head when he saw himself observed.
The bois brulé was as brave a man perhaps, as
ever lived, but he did not that night lie down
before the fire without some misgivings.

Noon came on the seventh day, and as yet
they had not seen an Indian, nor had an opportunity
to kill anything. Then it was that La
Verdure revealed his thoughts to his companion.
`Jussomme,' said he, `I am dying with hunger.
I shall not be able to walk tomorrow unless I find
something to eat.'

`Why,' said Jussomme, `this is not the first time
you have fasted, I suppose? I am hungry myself,

but I could travel two days more without
eating.'

`I will tell you better. There is no need for
either of us to fast longer than tonight. Look at
that man there.'

`Well, and what then?' He has nothing to
give us, and we cannot eat him.'

`Why not? If we do not eat we must all three
perish. Sachristie! it is better that one should
die than three. He would last till we can get a
supply. Let us kill him as he sleeps.'

`God forbid! God forbid! (crossing himself)
that were a mortal sin. We could never get absolution.
I would rather die a thousand times.
Villain! I will inform the young man of your
intentions instantly, unless you promise to give
them up.'

`Will you so? then take care of yourself. If
you offer to tell him what I have said I will shoot
you on the spot: I do not fear but I shall be
able to deal with him alone. But I do not wish
to hurt you: you are from my own parish. I
tell you, though, that I neither can nor will live
any longer without food, and if you interfere your
blood be upon your own head.'

`It is a pity. It is a great pity. He is a fine
lad, and he has eaten less than either of us. Do
as you please, however: it is no business of
mine. I wash my hands of it.'

Jussomme was physically and morally a coward,
and he feared La Verdure, with whose
strength and desperation he was well acquainted.
Nevertheless, several times that afternoon he attempted

to warn Gordon of his danger. But
when about to speak he always caught the eye of
La Verdure, who pointed significantly to his gun.
Once he fell back and addressed the cannibal.
`La Verdure,' said he, `when you have killed
him how will you conceal it? He started with
us, and we shall arrive without him: his body
will be found, and it will be discovered how he
came to his end. Besides, I shall be questioned.'

`If you hesitate an instant to swear to me by
the passion and crucifixion of our blessed Lord,
that you will never reveal what is about to happen,
I will kill you too. As to the rest, trust to
me: we will say that he was too weak to walk,
and that we were obliged to leave him. His
body will never be found. The wolves will take
care of that.'

Poor Jussomme sighed bitterly. He would
have given the world for an opportunity to speak
to our hero: but La Verdure stuck so close to
him that it was impossible. He feared, too, to
hear the report of the white savage's gun at every
moment. But La Verdure had formed his resolution
deliberately, and had no mind to run any
risk. He did not intend to kill the half breed till
night. No warning was needed, for Gordon understood
French more thoroughly, and spoke it
better than either of them. Reluctant to shed
blood, however justified by the circumstances, he
prayed fervently, though silently, that a deer or
some other animal might come in their way before
night. But none came. At sunset they stopped,

collected wood, cleared away the snow, and cut
hay to sleep upon.

`How far is it to —, La Verdure?' said
Gordon.

`So far that I think you will never reach it,'
replied the other.

`I am very hungry, but I think I can hold out
some time yet.'

`I am hungry, too; but I shall not be tomorrow;
— at least, if you have flesh enough to feed me,'
he added in his own language.

`Say you so? Die, then, miscreant!' said
Gordon, firing his gun at him. The ball went
through La Verdure's head, and he fell and expired
without a groan.[45]

Jussomme, surprised at hearing our hero speak
French, and frightened at what had happened,
fell on his knees and begged for mercy. Gordon
quickly reassured him, telling him that he had
heard and understood all that had been said;
nevertheless, the Canadian slept little that night.
His nerves had received too severe a shock to
recover at once. Gordon's rest was little better:
he had been too short a time in the Indian country
to spill human blood with indifference. The
next morning, having dragged their feeble steps a
mile or two, they heard singing and the sound of
a drum. They proceeded in the direction of the
noise, and found that it came from three Algonquin
lodges. They were hospitably received by
the poor savages, who had hunted the deer and
moose to good purpose. Here they rested two
days to recruit their strength and give their swollen

feet time to recover. The poor savages feasted
our travellers from morning till night. One of
them offered his daughter to Gordon for a wife,
before he departed, herself nothing loth, but the
proposal was declined.

In due time our hero and his attendant arrived
at Fort Douglass, situated at the confluence of the
Red and Assinneboin rivers. Gordon was received
by Mr Miles M'Donald, the deputy governor
of the colony, with much courtesy, and an apartment
was assigned him. He had the pleasure,
also, to find some of his Hohay kindred encamped
on the spot. They were not slow to exact of
him a considerable assortment of merchandise, on
account of his connexion with them; and they
asked him to go with them to their camp, an invitation
which he accepted with alacrity.

The reader must not suppose that the Forts of
the Indian country are constructed according to
the rules of Vauban. On the contrary, they are
mere stockades of pickets around the stores and
dwellings of the traders and their people. These
edifices are built of logs, rudely squared by the
axe and plastered with clay. They contain a
heterogeneous population, Indians, whites, and
their squaw wives and half breed children, dogs,
and in consequence, fleas innumerable. The
roofs are ornamented with dog sledges, and the
area inclosed by the buildings is occupied with
Canadian carts. Beside this, a trading fort is the
sanctuary of all evil odors.

At supper Gordon related to Mr M'Donald
how he had slain La Verdure. `You served him

right,' said that dignitary, `and deserve the thanks
of the company. You have saved us from a
famine. His project of devouring you was in
strict keeping with his character. Why, man, his
voracity was incredible. I will relate an instance
of his gluttony. It is but one among many.
When I' —

But here he was interrupted by the entrance
of one of the engagés with a bowl of punch. The
compound was made with lime juice and high
wines. Both articles being easy of transportation
may be occasionally found beyond the frontier.

Gordon remained silent. But M'Donald filled
the glasses and proceeded with his story.

`Two years ago,' said he, `when I wintered at
Brandon House, La Verdure was one of my
people. In the spring our provisions gave out,
and we had fasted a day, when an Indian brought
me a fat swan. Here, said I, is enough for all
five of us, for one day at least.'

`I should think it was,' said Gordon. `A
swan, if I am not mistaken, weighs something like
twenty pounds.'

`Often more; but La Verdure appeared astonished
at my words. “Enough!” said he, “I
could eat it myself.” “Very well,” said I, “if you
can you shall; but mind, if you do not eat the
whole, I shall stop a week's wages.” He took me
at my word, and the fowl was skinned and boiled.
Well, sir, he sat down and ate, till I feared for
his life, and entreated him to stop; but he would
not desist while there was a mouthful left. When
he had finished he was unable to rise, and I

thought he would die. However, he suffered no
inconvenience: the next morning he was as
well as ever.'

`I should have thought such an exploit impossible.'

`Impossible! Sir, you can have no idea of his
prowess.'

`Yes I can, for I have witnessed, and had like
to have fallen a victim to it.'

`Good! He was a mutinous fellow, and set a
very bad example to our men in times of scarcity.
I for one, am very glad of what has come to pass.'

3. CHAPTER III.

Three mornings after, an Assinneboin brother,
or cousin of our hero, for with the Dahcotah race
the words are synonymous, entered the fort, leading
an elegant horse. The animal was of the
wild breed of Mexico, and had probably been
stolen from the Pawnees or some other tribe of
the Missouri. It was richly caparisoned in the
fashion of the Hohays: the saddle was a cushion
of leather stuffed with buffalo hair, and

ornamented with porcupines' quills, as were the
head stall and crupper also. The stirrups were
of wood, incased in parchment. A rope round
the under jaw supplied the place of a bit. Indeed,
the Hohays are too good cavaliers to need
such a piece of furniture.

`Come, my brother,' said Okhonkoiah (The
Quick) to Gordon. `I give you my best horse.
Get on his back and come with me to the camp.
A young man has just arrived, and he says that
the buffaloes are more plentiful than the stars in
the sky. Our people are going to pound them as
soon as we arrive. Come with me and see how
your brethren live.'

The bois brulé had neither forgotten his mother
tongue nor the manner of taking the buffalo; and
was therefore more desirous to review the scenes
of his childhood. He took his gun and a blanket,
and bidding Mr McDonald farewell for a while,
rode off, attended by his cousin and a dozen other
Hohays. After two days' riding across a bare
prairie, in which not a tree, nor a shrub, nor a
blade of grass could be seen, they came to the
end of their journey.

The camp of the Hohay nomades was pitched
in a little oasis in the midst of a boundless plain.
Toward the skirts of the wood, horses were
browsing on the elm branches. A few children,
at play on a slight rising ground, were the first to
perceive the approaching company. The alarm
was given, and mounted warriors were soon seen
riding to and fro, reconnoitering the party advancing.
Okhonkoiah dismounted, and made

some signals with his robe that were perfectly
understood by the others, for they immediately
came forward to meet them, and all rode into the
camp together. Dogs barked and women scolded,
while the elders looked on in silence. Not a
few children screamed with affright at beholding
Gordon's complexion, and ran to their mothers
for protection.[46]

Having given the horses in charge to the women,
Okhonkoiah led the way to his lodge. It
was such a tent as has been described in a previous
note, and on it were painted certain hieroglyphics,
which we shall not be at the pains to
decypher. There were an hundred and fifty
such dwellings in the camp.

A buffalo robe was spread for the visitor to sit
upon, and his moccasins were taken off as he sat,
by his cousin's wife. Presently a wrinkled old
woman entered, and placing her hands on his
head, cried aloud, and wept bitterly. The substance
of her lament was the death of her daughter.
Anon her tears ceased to flow, and her
notes became joyful. She had now a son, she
said, to take care of her in her old age; to provide
meat, and steal horses for her. On inquiring who
this old lady might be, Gordon was informed that
she was his grandmother.

A dog was killed, and when its hair had been
singed off, it was cooked and set before our hero
and his friends. Before he had swallowed three
mouthfuls of this savory repast, he was summoned
away to a feast in another lodge, and then to
another, and another, and another. He who

should take anything away from a table in New
York or Boston, would be thought guilty of gross
ill manners; but in Hohay lodges the standard of
good breeding being, in this particular, exactly the
reverse, Gordon was obliged to carry off all he
could not eat. And so passed the time, till he
was near fainting from the excess of Indian hospitality,
for he could not decline eating without
giving great offence. At last, being admonished
to be in readiness for the hunt that was to take
place the next morning, he was suffered to rest as
well as the night-mare would let him.

The women had built a small enclosure of
sticks and brushwood on the verge of the encampment,
leaving a space open on one side, just wide
enough to allow a buffalo to enter. From this
opening diverged two rows of stakes, planted a
few feet apart, and extending more than a mile.
On the top of each was placed a large sod. By
this simple contrivance are the Hohays and wandering
Sioux accustomed to take the buffalo.

At day break the camp was all astir. The
men mounted, some armed with guns, but more
with bows and arrows. The morning was clear
and frosty, just cold enough to make a little exercise
comfortable. As they rode along Gordon
obtained the praise of his companions. `Eoopee!'[75]
they cried, `Look at him! Look at him! How
he rides! He is no fool. He knows almost as
much as a Hohay!'

In about an hour they came to a small herd of
wild cattle, quietly turning up the snow with their
noses, and cropping the grass beneath. The
hunters now separated, and making a careful circuit
surrounded them. As soon as the animals
took to flight the Indians closed upon them, and
drove them between the palisades before mentioned.
Frightened by the sods on the stakes,
and urged by the riders in the rear, they plunged
onward toward the pound at the end of the avenue.
None of them attempted to escape laterally;
such is the stupidity of the animal. As they
drew near the enclosure the pursuers ceased to
press them, and they entered, one by one. When
they were all within, the butchery began. Men
started up on all sides, and bullets and arrows
were discharged in quick succession. Thus
baited, and confused by the shouts of the hunters
and the reports of fire arms, they ran round and
round in utter amazement, till they were all killed.
Upwards of an hundred were thus slain, for they
did not try to break through the pound, which
they might easily have done.

Then came the squaws, with horses and dog
sledges,[47] and cut up the slaughtered animals.
A few pounds were taken from the choicest parts
of each carcass, the dogs were suffered to feast,
and the remainder was abandoned to the wolves
that were patiently waiting around. Such is the
economy of Indians!

In a few days when all was eaten up, another
hunt took place. This was a bolder and more
manly sport than the first, requiring no little dexterity

and horsemanship, and not unattended with
danger. The buffalo, when wounded, commonly
turns upon its pursuer, who must move quickly to
escape from its horns. On this occasion several
violent falls took place, yet none were killed or
seriously injured. The worst that the discomfited
cavaliers underwent, was the ridicule of their companions.
Feats of archery were exhibited that
excited Gordon's admiration. In more than one
instance he saw an arrow driven through and
through the body of a buffalo wing on its way as
though it had not left a death behind.

When the chase was over the hunters divided
into two parties, of which one returned to the
camp and the other rode farther into the prairie,
to see if any tracks of an enemy could be discerned.
Our hero, fatigued with the exercise he had
taken, laid himself down and slept soundly. He
was awakened by a terrible uproar. An hundred
voices were crying, `A Dahcotah woman! A
Dahcotah woman!' Gordon rose and ran to the
spot. A woman stood in the midst of a crowd of
Hohays, who eyed her with angry and threatening
glances. They all spoke together, and it was
with some difficulty that the bois brulé could obtain
silence.

When he had at last persuaded them to speak
one at a time, an old Hohay stepped forward.
`Woman,' said he, `who is your husband.'

`I am the wife of Wawnahton,' replied the
squaw.

At that hated name the clamor redoubled, for
of all men, Wawnahton was the most feared by the

Hohays. The women unsheathed their knives,
and would have immolated the prisoner on the
spot had they not been restrained by the men.

`Metah Kodah,' (my comrade) said Gordon
aside, to one of those who had remained in the
prairie after the hunt, `where did you find this
woman?'

`We saw three persons afar off, and gave them
chace. Two were men and well mounted.
They made their escape, but we caught the
squaw. Do you want her for a wife, my brother?'

`No.'

`My father,' said Gordon to the ancient who
was interrogating the wife of Wawnahton, `a woman
is a small gift. I am your son. All here
are my brethren. Give this woman to me?'

Unable to comprehend his motive, all looked on
him with surprise. `Do you want a wife?' they
cried. `If you do, here are an hundred of the
daughters of your own people, younger and handsomer,
that you may take. Why do you ask for
this woman, the wife of our worst enemy?'

`I do not want to make her my wife. I do
not want a wife at all. But I do not wish to see
her blood spilled. Have charity for her, my
brethren. She is but a woman, and cannot hurt
you.'

`Are you mad?' they answered. `If she can
kill none of us herself she may have children who
will. Is she not the wife of him whose hand is
reddest with the blood of the Hohays?'

`He slew my brother!' cried an ill favored
savage, forcing his way through the crowd, tomahawk

in hand. `He slew my brother, and she
shall die for it.'

And the debate promised to terminate fatally
for the poor squaw, who had till now stood silent,
excepting when questioned. Knives were drawn
and hatchets uplifted. But Gordon snatched an
axe from one of the bystanders, and thrust himself
between the woman and her enemies. `Hear
me,' he cried, `If you kill this prisoner, you
shall kill your brother also. Give her to me, for
I tell you she shall not be hurt. I will pay for
her when I return to the fort.'

`Brother,' said Okhonkoiah, `let there be no
strife between us. Take the woman and do what
you please with her. She is yours.'

And he turned round and harangued the crowd,
saying that his kinsman was too young a person
to be expected to know so much as a Hohay.
He had moreover lived too long among `the people
with hats,' and had imbibed their foolish notions.
Therefore his ignorance was to be
excused.

Gordon had in the meanwhile desired that his
horse might be saddled and brought to him.
This done, he desired the wife of Wawnahton to
mount. `What do you mean?' said Okhonkoiah,
`Will you ruin the animal? Do you not know
that a horse loses his speed as soon as a woman
mounts him?'

Gordon was well aware of this superstition, but
he feared a change in the popular opinion too
much, to waste time in argument. He sprung on
the horse before the lady, and hastened out of the

camp. He asked her where she wished to go,
and shaped his course according to her direction.
She informed him that she was going on a visit
from one Siou camp to another, in company with
two of her brothers, (cousins) when they were
seen and chased by the Hohays. Finding that
her steed could not keep up with them; for the
Sioux never suffer a woman to ride a good horse
for the reason above alluded to; they left her to
her fate.

When they had ridden three leagues from the
camp the bois brulé dismounted. `Make the
best of your way home,' he said. `You have no
need of a guide, and you cannot be overtaken, for
you sit on a horse that has no equal in the camp
you have left.' He then turned, and retraced his
way back.

When he arrived he was not greeted with
smiles. Those who had lost friends or relations
by the hands of the Sioux, reproached him with
having frustrated their designs of vengeance. Little
was wanted to turn their rage on him, but
having a very clear comprehension of Indian character,
he was silent, and the cloud soon passed
away.

After passing a month with his red kindred, he
returned to Fort Douglass, and when the ice
broke up, he ascended the Red river to Pembinaw.

4. CHAPTER IV.

In the mean time Mr Semple received the
appointment of Governor of Ossinneboia, and
Duncan Cameron was furnished by Lord Selkirk
with funds wherewith to purvey seed and implements
of agriculture for the use of the colonists.
Yet the summer was far advanced before all was
in readiness for departure.

Flora had lost her gaiety, but not her hopes.
Cavenny visited her often, and through him she
heard from Gordon. The young Irishman was
warmly attached to our hero and took good care
of his interests. He attended Flora to the places
where she went in compliance with her father's
wishes, and lost no opportunity to sound his
friend's praises in her ear.

Among Flora's admirers was a partner of the
Northwest Company, named M'Leod. This man
was so smitten, that in less than a week from their
introduction to each other, he made formal proposals
to her father for her hand. The Cameron
approved of his suit, but referred him to Flora.
She thanked him for his good opinion, but was
sorry to be obliged to reject his offer. And when

pressed for her reasons, she told him with her
natural frankness that her heart was already given
to another.

M'Leod was a man of black and violent passions,
and he could not forgive the slight. Never
having heard of Gordon's suit, and seeing Cavenny
assiduous in his attentions, he concluded
that he was indebted to the Irishman for his failure.
He had `wintered' in opposition to Cavenny,
and had found his own skill inadequate to
the contest. Perhaps no two Indian traders ever
opposed each other long without being personal
enemies. Cavenny had foiled M'Leod in his
business, and was therefore hated by him. Injuries
in trade M'Leod might have forgiven, but
this imaginary wrong rankled in his breast, and
he resolved that if an opportunity should offer
when both would be beyond the reach of law, he
would so dispose of his rival that he should never
again cross his path in life.

Governor Semple becoming from the nature of
his employ more intimate with Cameron, exhausted
all the rhetoric of which he was master
to persuade him to unite Flora with our hero.
The old man listened patiently to the worthy
Governor, and readily admitted that Gordon was
worthy of all praise, but on the point in question
he was adamant.

Cameron fell sick, and the business of the Colony
and Company detained Governor Semple
long. But M'Leod had already gone to his post,
and the contending parties who had so far abstained
from open violence now came to blows.

Blood was shed, and trading forts were taken and
retaken. The colonists of Ossinneboia were molested
in every possible manner by the agents of
the Northwest Company, who also attempted to
excite the Indians to massacre the settlers. Happily,
in this they failed. A large body of the
erratic half breeds and gens libres was subsidised
on either side, and officers were appointed under
whose command these reprobates might assemble
and act. The partners of the two companies
wore uniforms, and assumed to be his majesty's
officers; well knowing that such claims commanded
the respect of the Indians. M'Leod in especial,
went farther. He claimed to be a magistrate, and
issued warrants under his sign manual for the apprehension
of the most active partizans of the
Hudson's Bay Company. Those he made prisoners
in this manner were either induced to
change their service by threats and bribery, or
sent to Montreal; ostensibly to be tried for alleged
offences, but in reality to get them out of the
way.[48]

Cavenny started for his post a short time after
M'Leod. The latter was soon apprised of his
proceedings, and resolved to settle all scores. He
had with him a subordinate agent named Reinhard,
a man who had served in the Muron regiment
in the late war between the United States
and Great Britain. M'Leod pitched upon this
fellow as a fit instrument to execute his purposes.
He gave him minute instructions, and ordered him
to go and meet Cavenny before he should arrive
at his post.

Reinhard met Cavenny at Lake Winnepeg,
and told him, that shocked by the violence of the
Northwest Company, of which he had frequently
been a witness, he had resolved to leave its employ
and offer his services to Lord Selkirk. Cavenny
did not scruple to engage him, but he soon
had good cause to repent his indiscretion.

Reinhard immediately set himself to work to
corrupt Cavenny's engagés, and with two of them
he succeeded perfectly. By promising that they
should have higher wages, and be sent to a better
post, he persuaded them not only to desert from
their bourgeois, but to co-operate in measures to
secure his person. The other three he sounded,
but receiving unsatisfactory answers, he thought
it most prudent to disclose his intentions no further.

Toward evening Angé and Le Vasseur, the
two conspirators, did all in their power to irritate
Cavenny; at no time a difficult task, for the Irish
blood was warm in his veins. They repeatedly
handled their oars so as to `catch crabs,' as sailors
term it. When rebuked by their principal,
they behaved with the utmost insolence. At last,
Le Vasseur let his oar fall overboard, and it became
necessary for the boat to drop an hundred
yards down stream to recover it. The Irishman
lost patience.

`If that happens again, Le Vasseur,' said he,
`I will deduct a day's wages from your account.'

`You may do it now, if you like. My wages
are small, but Heaven be praised, I can get better
when I please.'

`Rogue! If you have any regard for your
bones do not repeat that. If you speak so to me
again, I will beat you to a mummy.'

`We are but poor engagés, Monsieur Cavenny,'
said Angé, `but we will not suffer ourselves to be
beaten, for all that. Our written engagements do
not stipulate that blows shall be inflicted, when we
fail in our duty. Take what advantage the law
allows you; you shall take no other.'

Cavenny snatched one of the boat poles, and
raised it to strike the speaker. But Le Vasseur,
who sat behind him, dropped his oar and seized
him by the elbows, and Angé reared his oar to
return the intended compliment.

`Dogs! rascals! villains!' cried the Irishman,
shaking himself clear of Le Vasseur; wait till
we get ashore, and I will make you wish yourselves
at Quebec. Ho! Le Gros, put ashore instantly,
— instantly.'

The steersman obeyed, and the whole party
debarked. `Now you rascals,' said Cavenny,
`I will teach you how to speak to your bourgeois.
Come on!'

The other boatmen expostulated. The mutineers
stood sullen and silent, and seemed afraid to
begin. `If you fear the penalties of the law provided
for such cases,' said Cavenny, `I give you
my word I will take no advantage of them, whether
you conquer me or not. Come, let us make
an end of it.'

Reinhard now spoke. `Monsieur Cavenny,'
said he, `you cannot but get the worst of it.

They are two to one. Any man might be afraid
of such odds.'

These words had their intended effect. Cavenny
furiously struck Le Vasseur a stunning
blow. The battle now raged in bloody earnest.
The engagés showed no lack of strength or courage,
but they could not contend against the
Irishman's science. He `floored' them as fast
as they could rise, and in ten minutes they were
obliged to give in.

`There, you rascal,' said Cavenny, `I trust I
shall have no more trouble with you. It is a pity
there is no law in this country to take care of
such fellows. But I will have the respect and
obedience that is my due, even if I am obliged to
soil my hands. Return to your duty, and for this
time all shall be forgiven, but beware how you
provoke me again.'

The sun had now set beyond

The wolves had begun their nightly howlings,
and the song of the whip-poor-will had commenced.
It was too dark to proceed any farther, so
Cavenny ordered his steersman to land. His
tent was pitched, and a huge fire was made.
The kind hearted Irishman consoled the men he
had beaten with a dram, which they accepted
with apparent thankfulness.

In the morning Reinhard and the two mutineers
were missing. They did not take leave
empty handed. The bold visage of Cavenny
was somewhat blanked at this disaster, but he

soon recovered his good humor. `Well,' he
said, `at any rate I can steer the boat myself, and
we have three oars left to take us to Fort Douglass.
I wish however that we could see some
Indians; I could then send to Mr M'Donald for a
reinforcement. But never mind; `care killed a
cat;' and he sung

In the mean time Reinhard and the deserters
joined M'Leod. That worthy rebuked his deputy
in harsh terms. `What did I send you to
Cavenny for?' said he. If he had been killed in
the scuffle, it would have been done in self defence.
You have let slip a fine opportunity to
take him.'

`But consider, Sir, that I had but two men on
my side, and the other three would have taken
his part. If I had taken a share of the battle, and
given him an unlucky blow, I doubt if I could
have kept my neck out of a halter. I do not
mean that I had any inclination to dispose of him
in that manner. I would not do such a thing on
any account, unless compelled. Besides, Cavenny
is not so easily managed. I wish you had seen
how he beat the two Canadians.'

After some further consultation, Angé and Le
Vasseur were called. M'Leod took their deposition,
and issued a warrant to secure the body of
Michael Cavenny for an assault and battery, by
him committed on two of his majesty's liege subjects,
&c. &c. This precious document was
signed by M'Leod in his assumed capacity of
Justice of the Peace for the Indian country.

For the purpose of serving the warrant, Cuthbert
Grant, a half breed well known in the Northwest,
was appointed a constable. A number of Indians
and bois brulés were called upon to assist, and to
prevent mistakes, M'Leod resolved to attend in
person. A few birch canoes were procured, and
the whole posse paddled down the river.

Cavenny had stopped his boat at a convenient
place, and gone after a heard of buffaloes that were
grazing a short distance from the river. On his
return he was seized, pinioned, and conducted
before the soi disant Major.

He offered no resistance, nor did he manifest
any resentment, though reviled and treated with
the utmost indignity by the barbarians into whose
hands he had fallen. `Poor fellows,' said he,
`they know not what they are about.' When
brought into the presence of M'Leod, who was
dressed in a full suit of uniform, he did not wait
for that dignitary to speak. Confronting him
boldly, he drew himself up to his full height
and thus addressed him. `I demand to know on
what authority I am arrested, and for what offence?'

`Show the prisoner the warrant,' said M'Leod
to Reinhard, who was also dressed à la militaire,
and wore a sword of portentous length.

The warrant was exhibited, fairly engrossed on
a sheet of parchment. Beside the imputation of
assault and battery, it charged Cavenny with having
instigated divers Chippeway Indians to rob
and murder certain of the lieges. It was signed

— M'Leod, J. P. for the Indian country, and
Major in the Royal Canadian Corps of Voyageurs.

`M'Leod,' said Cavenny, `what needs this
farce, this vile abuse of the name of law? Since
when has this Royal Voyageur Corps been organized,
and from whom did you receive the
appointment of major or magistrate? You well
know that you are neither a soldier nor a civil
officer. You must be aware that when we meet
where the laws are in force we must change
places. Make an end of this child's play and
tell me what you intend to do, and how long I am
to be kept in confinement. But why need I ask
your motives? Your trade has suffered through
me, and you fear that it will again, and therefore
you will rid yourself of my opposition by violence.
I will tell you a better way to dispose of me.
Unbind my arms, tell that rascal there to lend me
his sword, and draw your own.'

`Rest assured, Michael Cavenny,' replied
M'Leod, `that I have sufficient authority for
what I do. I will not allow it to be questioned.
However, for the satisfaction of those present, I
will say that my powers are derived from his
Excellency the Governor General of the Canadas.
The idea of fighting with a prisoner charged
with high crimes and misdemeanors is too absurd
to deserve a moment's consideration. You must
accompany me till measures can be taken to send
you to Montreal for trial. An exact inventory
shall be taken of your goods and effects, at which
you may be present, if you please. After the
outrages committed by members of the Hudson's

Bay Company, (of which some present have been
witnesses) I should be inexcusable to suffer you
to remain at large. In this course it is my zeal
for the public good and my duty as an organ of
the law that actuates me, and not the fear of your
opposition as you falsely and scandalously assert.
You will not dance with Miss Cameron this winter,'
he added, drawing near the prisoner, and
speaking so low as to be heard by him only.

Cavenny could contain his wrath no longer.
`Villain,' he cried, `it is a burning shame that a
name so pure should be profaned by the lips of
such a coward and ruffian. Dog! do your worst
now, for when we meet on equal terms your time
will be short. Take your inventory! your scoundrelly
associates will be your fittest witnesses.
Do as you please with me. Henceforth I will
not degrade myself by exchanging a word with
you.'

In a few minutes Cavenny's boat was manned,
and M'Leod gave orders to move up the river.
A canoe was prepared to convey the prisoner,
who, still bound, was given in custody to Angé
and Le Vasseur. Before starting M'Leod took
these men aside.

`You will follow us to the encampment,' he
said, `but keep out of sight, for the prisoner has
a tongue that may seduce some of the men from
their duty. He may try to escape from you.'

`We will take care that he does not succeed,'
said Le Vasseur.

`Ay, but to be more sure, take your guns with

you. If he offers any violence it is your duty to
resist, whatever the consequence may be.'

`But if we should use our guns,' said Angé,
`we shall be hanged.'

`No fear of that. No one will ever hear of it.
If there should be any investigation I will bear
you out in what you may do in the discharge of
your duty, at all events.'

`How are we to treat him if he remains quiet?'

`Why he has beaten and disgraced you, but I
would not recommend any harshness. But you
are not obliged to bear any abuse from him.'

`Well Monsieur, we will do the best we can.'

`Remain where you are half an hour and then
follow us. If you behave properly you shall not
miss a handsome reward.'

He then started with his banditti, and the Canadians
remained behind with their prisoner.

5. CHAPTER V.

In thinking that the sense of shame for the
chastisement they had received, and the hope of
reward, would silence all moral feeling in Angé

and Le Vasseur, M'Leod deceived himself. They
were weak, ignorant men, but not so depraved as
to view the crime of murder without horror.

`Angé, what do you think of what Monsieur
the Major has been saying?' said Le Vasseur.

`Think? I scarcely know what to think. I
believe we have done wrong to listen to that accursed
villain, Reinhard.'

`And our new bourgeois is no better.'

`It is clear that he wants us to kill Monsieur Cavenny.
But I will have nothing to do with it.
He may put his own neck into a collar if he
pleases, but he shall not mine.'

`Nor mine neither. What say you, Angé?
Shall we try to make peace with our Irish bourgeois?
I do not believe that M'Leod will ever reward
us as Reinhard promised.'

`Nor do I. He thinks so little of committing
murder and robbery, that I verily believe he may
cheat us.'

`And he may do by us as he wishes us to do by
Monsieur Cavenny, to be safe from our evidence.
Sainte Vierge! I will go no farther in this. I
will speak to the Irishman directly.'

`Monsieur Cavenny,' said he, touching his cap
respectfully, `I believe we have wronged you.
If you have beaten us, we provoked you to
it. If you know how we can make you amends,
say so, and it shall be done.'

Cavenny cast on him a look of utter contempt,
but did not reply.

`Monsieur,' said Angé, `we should not have
done as we have, if Reinhard had not tempted

us. But we never meant to go this length. Take
us back, and stop all our wages, if you please.'

`And now,' replied Cavenny, resuming his natural
gaiety, `that you have done me all the harm
you can, like two honest fellows, as you are, you
resolve to do no more.'

`But your life is in danger, and we would
not be guilty of your blood. Fly then to Fort
Douglas with us, and there you will be safe.'

`Your master, you poor devil, dares not hurt a
hair of my head. I shall get more out of him and
his company, by law, than I can make in the
trade. So, my fine fellows, I advise you to obey
the orders of your new bourgeois.'

The men were confounded by this reply. They
consulted together, and then again endeavored to
persuade the Irishman to escape. But apprehending
nothing more than a short detention, he
thought it his duty to give his company a legal
advantage over the Northwest. He returned a
peremptory refusal to their proposals.

A little after sundown, they arrived at M'Leod's
encampment. The ruffian hastened to the water
side, and was highly enraged at seeing Cavenny.
He took the boatmen apart, `Did I not tell you,'
he said, `what to do if he attempted to escape?'

`But he has made no such attempt,' said they.

`Do you argue with me?' said M'Leod, losing
temper. `I will try to teach you your duty better.'
And with his sheathed sword he beat the
Canadians for their humanity. [49]

What were the feelings of this wicked man that
night, we do not presume to divine. If he felt

any remorse for what he had done, or compunction
for what he was about to do, it never appeared
in his subsequent conduct. When at last he
slept, his slumbers were broken by dreams of
horror. He was heard to groan heavily, and
towards morning he called on Reinhard. That
miscreant entered the tent, and found him sitting
upright. A cold clammy sweat stood on his
brow, his hands were fast clenched, and his eyes
were fixed on vacancy. `O! my friend,' he exclaimed,
with the familiarity of guilt, `stay with
me. Stay with me. Not for worlds would I pass
such another night. Reach me that case.' Reinhard
obeyed, and his principal poured out a large
glass of spirits, and drank it off undiluted.

`Are you going to get drunk, Monsieur?' said
the Muron. `Cheer up, and tell me what has
frightened you.'

`Who told you that I was frightened? But I
have had a frightful dream. I thought I was
standing at the altar with Flora Cameron, and the
priest had begun to repeat the ceremony. But
when I offered her my hand, she started back,
and said that there was blood upon it. I looked,
and indeed it was dripping with crimson. The
scene changed, and I stood at the bar with you,
Reinhard. Our wrists were chained together,
and Cavenny, in his shroud, bore witness against
us. Then we stood upon a scaffold, and the executioner
told us that we had but five minutes to
live. Nature could bear no more, and I awoke.'

Reinhard laughed. `If it should be necessary
to resort to severe measures,' he said, `I will warrant

that he will never rise in evidence against us
till the day of judgment, and that is so far off that
I believe it will never arrive. Cheer up, Sir, this
is weak and unmanly.'

We will not record the blasphemous speech of
these reprobates, nor the schemes of guilt, which
they concerted. The camp was roused at
dawn. Notwithstanding the excess of his potations,
M'Leod showed no signs of intoxication.
He was indeed deadly pale, but his voice
did not falter. He called before him a Chippeway
Indian, a noted desperado retained by the
Northwest Company. To this man he spoke in
the Chippeway tongue, and the savage grunted
assent to his instructions. M'Leod then turned
to his prisoner.

`Mr Cavenny,' said he, `I have been thinking
that it would subject you to unnecessary hardship,
to detain you in this country all winter, and have
therefore concluded to send you to Montreal.
There you may find bail for your appearance before
a competent tribunal, as your trial cannot
take place till the witnesses arrive next spring.
There is your canoe, Mr Cavenny. You will go
under the charge of Constable Reinhard, and Indian
Joe. They have orders to treat you with
all the consideration consistent with your safe custody.
I wish you a pleasant journey, Sir.'

Cavenny looked daggers at him, but did not
speak. He regarded the canoe, and the conviction
that his death was intended flashed on his
mind. It was old and shattered, and he saw that
no provision, nor any of his baggage, had been put

on board. But he arranged his ideas with great
rapidity. He thought they would not attempt
his life before night, and resolved to endeavor to
escape, the first time they put ashore. If he could
get possession of the Indian's gun, he would not
fear them; and even if he could not succeed in
this, he thought, that provided he could get out
of gun-shot, he could distance them both, and so
was little concerned for the event. M'Leod perceived
that his suspicions were awakened.

`I see that you think yourself hardly used, Mr
Cavenny,' said he. `Well, the consciousness of
having done my duty must be my consolation.
The Indian will mend the canoe when you encamp
to-night; and he is an excellent hunter.
You will not starve on the way.'

Cavenny embarked with the two savages, who
exchanged ominous glances. A rapid current
soon swept them out of sight of the encampment.
The canoe leaked, and was fast filling, when,
coming to a sand bar, Reinhard proposed to the
Indian to stop and bale it out.

The spot was about a league from the camp
they had left. Seeing that he had no chance of
escape, as the Indian held his gun in his hand,
Cavenny sat down near Reinhard, who was busy
about the canoe. The red man caught the
Muron's eye, and pointed to his gun. The latter
nodded to him. Placing his thumb on the dog,
that the prisoner might not hear the noise of cocking,
he made ready, and fired at Cavenny's back.
The muzzle was so near, that the Irishman's
blanket coat was blackened and scorched by the

explosion. The ball passed through his body,
but he did not fall. He turned and grappled his
assassin, with the desperate strength of a dying
man. Grasping the Indian by the throat, he hurled
him to the earth with great violence, confining
his arms by the pressure of his knees. Seeing
his confederate thus worsted, Reinhard advanced,
drew his sword, and deliberately plunged
it three times into Cavenny's back. The Irishman's
grasp relaxed, his eyes glared, and he rolled
off his half strangled foe. Reinhard took him
by the feet and dragged him to the river, his long
black hair trailing in his own blood. Reader, this
is no fiction. Thus died Michael Cavenny.

As soon as the Indian had recovered his breath,
he set the canoe adrift, and the murderers started
to join their principal by land. In a few minutes
they reached the camp. [50] Not a word was
spoken on either side, nor did any one ask a question
relative to the fate of the prisoner. But the
chief ordered the captured boat to be unloaded,
and distributed the personal effects of the deceased
among his followers. The Chippeway was
rewarded for his share of the transaction, with
Cavenny's fowling piece, and Reinhard received
his linen and silver mounted pistols. M'Leod reserved
nothing for himself. Ruthless as he was,
he had too much pride to share in the plunder of
his victim. The only redeeming trait in his character
that we are able to record, was a scrupulous
integrity in matters of business. Perhaps,
had he passed his life where the laws are regarded,

he might have passed through life with an unblemished
reputation.

In the Irishman's port-folio he found many
papers. One of them contained a lock of bright
yellow hair, and a copy of verses, probably writen
by Cavenny himself, for they were in keeping
with his gay but not ungenerous character. On
the back of the paper were the words, `N'oublie
jamais,' and the text was inscribed `To Laura.'
It ran thus:

M'Leod read the lines, and then threw them,
and the hair, into the fire. But he found other
documents thatinterested him more nearly. These
were Gordon's part of a correspondence between
him and Cavenny, in which all the circumstances
of his suit to Flora Cameron, and the death of La
Verdure, were detailed at full length. These letters
had been sent to the Irishman, by couriers
bearing despatches to the Deputy Governor.
M'Leod groaned with vexation, and bit his lips
till the blood came, as he read and found that he
had overlooked a real rival, and sacrificed an
imaginary one. But it is but the `premier pas
qui coute,' and having commenced his career of
crime, he began to digest a plan to get Gordon

into his power. He thought that the death of La
Verdure would furnish a sufficient pretext.

For this purpose he soon after rode south till
he came to a Dahcotah camp, where he had an
interview with Wawnahton. He advised the Siou
chief to assemble his people, and attack the Hudson's
Bay Company's fort and colony at Pembinaw.
By so doing, M'Leod told him he would
greatly injure his natural enemies the Chippeways,
who were there furnished with arms and
ammunition. He held up the plunder of the place
as a farther inducement, and above all, he promised
Wawnahton a quantity of ardent spirits in the
event of his success. [51]

These arguments were irresistible. The Dahcotah
promised, and what he promised he performed.
He collected two hundred men, and set
forth to plunder and destroy the devoted colony
of Ossinneboia.

But the colonists were apprised of their danger
by a party of Chippeways, who had been hunting
in the plains, and had fled before the Sioux. Preparations
were instantly made to repel the attack.
The women and children took refuge in the fort.
Ammunition was served out to the men and a
party of Chippeways were summoned to aid in
the defence. When, therefore, the Dahcotahs
showed themselves on the opposite bank of the
river, they were greeted with a volley that killed
three of their best men, and wounded several
more. Discouraged by this, with true Indian caution,
they retired out of gun-shot.

M'Leod, who had come thither painted and dis

guised as an Indian, in hopes of directing the rage
of the savage warriors upon Gordon, gnashed his
teeth for very spite. He saw that the blow had
failed, and advised Wawnahton to draw his party
off, and wait for a fitter opportunity. But his
counsel was not heeded.

The uncle of the chief is a man as insensible to
fear as the blade of his own knife. His name
cannot be written, but translated it means `He
who shoots his enemy in the branches of a tree,'
and he acquired it by killing a Chippeway in that
manner. His silence and sullenness on ordinary
occasions have procured him the title of Le Boudard,
from the French of the country. He is commonly
seen walking about like a chafed bear,
speaking to no one, and scarcely answering, when
addressed. But in times of danger, his ferocity
almost amounts to insanity. He it was who answered
M'Leod.

`These Khahkhahtons[76] shall know that the
Dahcotahs are men,' he said. `I will throw away
my body to prove it. Show me where the river
may be passed with least danger.'

M'Leod pointed to a bend in the river where
the steepness of the banks might conceal a swimmer.

`And now; dog of an Englishman, who hast
caused our people to die, shew me where is the
most danger.'

`As to that, you can see it as well as I. There
is the enemy in front of you.'

`Come then,' said the Boudard, throwing off all
his clothing, `come with me and let it be seen
which has the strongest heart, the Dahcotah or
the man with a hat.'

This proposal M'Leod very reasonably declined.
But Wawnahton also stripped, declaring
that his dekshee (uncle) should not surpass him
in bravery. The two Indians then walked coolly
to the bank, and swam over in the face of the enemy,
holding their bows over their heads, that the
strings might not be wetted.

When the Chippeways saw the Sioux in the
water, they raised a cry of surprise and admiration.
`They honored such determined scorn of
life,' and did not fire. The colonists were retrained
by no such principles. They levelled their
guns, and had not Gordon, who was invested with
the temporary command, forbidden them, they
would have shot the desperadoes. They came
ashore and boldly advanced to within a bow's
length of the white men. `Look at me,' cried
the Boudard, `you now know what a man is.'

`Brave men,' said Gordon, `what has induced
you to attack people who have never injured you?
Why have you risked your lives so rashly?'

`You frighten the buffaloes out of the prairies,
and you furnish our enemies with the means to
destroy us,' replied Wawnahton. `But who are
you that speak our language like one of us, and
are yet in arms by the side of the Chippeways?'

`I am a Hohay, and the grandson of Chuntay

Paytah. Is it wonderful that I should speak the
language of my mother?'

The Dahcotah uttered an exclamation of joy,
and held out his hand to Gordon. Explanations
ensued, and each was beginning to be better
pleased with the other, when a clamor from the
crowd attracted their attention.

While their dialogue was going on, the Boudard
had walked through the ranks of his enemies,
who gave way and opened a passage for him.
As he turned the corner of one of the log huts he
became aware of a Chippeway, levelling a gun at
him. Drawing an arrow to the head, the Boudard
rushed upon the treacherous foe and drove him
into a corner. Getting so close as to make it impossible
for the Chippeway to use his gun, the
Dahcotah stood, with his shaft trembling on the
string, and foaming with rage like a wild beast.
In this posture he vaunted of his own valor and
reviled his prisoner, loading him with all the opprobrious
epithets in the Siou tongue. The other
Chippeways had now recovered from their first
surprise and begun to handle their weapons, when
Wawnahton and Gordon interposed. At the command,
or rather request of the former, the Boudard
released his prisoner, and to prevent further
collision Gordon conducted the two Dahcotahs
into his own house.

The motive of the intended attack was revealed
to Gordon, and he declared his intention to cross
the river and punish its instigator with his own
hand. To this end, after feasting his guests bountifully,

he armed himself and swam over with
them.

But in the mean while, M'Leod observed that
the countenances of his swarthy comrades did not
indicate friendly feelings toward him; and he
heard them express their indignation at him
whose counsels had caused the fall of their brethren.
One of the braves said, moreover, that if
Wawnahton and the Boudard should not return
in safety, the Sagandoshee (Eglishman) should
pay for all. Such an event was hardly to be expected,
and while the attention of the Dahcotahs
was absorbed by what was passing on the opposite
bank, M'Leod stealthily withdrew. He
mounted his horse, and did not draw bridle till
he was far out of the reach of pursuit. When,
therefore, Gordon sought him among the Dahcotahs,
he was not to be found, and the young man
returned wet and discontented to his abode.

6. CHAPTER VI.

Gordon had built a log dwelling for the reception
of Cameron and his daughter on their

arrival. It was settled between our hero and Mr
M'Donald, that the old Scot should never know
to whom he was indebted. The building was
like all others in that country, and consisted of
four apartments, three of them as rude as might
be. The fourth being designed for Flora, was
finished with all the taste and ingenuity Gordon
could exert. The walls were squared by the
axe, plastered with mud, and washed with the
white clay of the prairies; the same the Indians
use to cleanse their leathern garments. The floor
was neatly jointed and planed, and the windows
were, as we are credibly informed, the first glazed
ones ever seen at Pembinaw. Those of the other
houses were of oiled paper, or parchment. In
short all was comfortably, if not elegantly arranged.

At this time, news came that Governor Semple,
Duncan Cameron and Flora, had arrived at Fort
Douglass. Mr Semple was detained there by
business, and Cameron was obliged to proceed to
Pembinaw; but unwilling to expose his daughter
to the danger of starvation, he left her with the
Governor. When the clansman arrived at Pembinaw,
Gordon, under pretence of hunting, saddled
his horse and rode to Fort Douglass, where he
was cordially received. Flora, indeed, on the first
opportunity, urged the impropriety of his visit, but
as Gordon informed her that Mr Semple would
ascend the river in a few days, and that his presence
would add to the security of the journey,
she gave up the argument.

The colonists had ploughed and planted Indian
corn and such vegetables as were most likely to

succeed in that climate; but when the harvest
was nearly ripe for the sickle, clouds of grasshoppers
swept the land like the samiel, and left
not a green blade behind. The Catholic priest
publicly anathematized them in vain. The inhabitants
were obliged to resort to the chase for
their daily subsitence, but as if all things conspired
against Lord Selkirk's schemes of colonization,
the buffaloes emigrated to the Missouri. [52]
Provisions began to fall short at Fort Douglass,
and all persons connected with the establishment
were put on short allowance, to the great annoyance
of the Canadians, whose digestive organs
equal those of wolves in power.

In another week the new settlers for whom Mr
Semple waited, arrived, and he prepared to depart.
A small portion of the stores of the fort
was put on board the boat, and the party moved
up the river. The third day of their progress
brings us to the time when our story commenced.

After leaving the boat as before related, Gordon
ascended a small rising ground, and looked
round for the wild cattle. His practised eye soon
discovered a solitary buffalo, grazing at a great
distance. The sun was fast sinking, and it was
evident that to reach and kill the animal before
dark, he must exert himself to the utmost. He
threw his gun upon his shoulder, and was about
to start, when his ear was saluted by a low whistle.
He well understood it to be an Indian signal,
meaning `you are in danger; keep out of
sight.' The warning came from a small ravine at
the foot of the hillock; one of the thousand

channels by which the snow and rain of the prairies
find their way to the river. Gordon descended
into the hollow and returned an answering
sign. A tall Indian, mounted on a powerful
charger, emerged from the ravine, and the bois
brulé recognized Wawnahton. The horse appeared
to have been hard ridden, and the face,
hands and dress of the rider were stained with
blood. His feet were placed in huge wooden
stirrups, drawn up short, but he sat firm and erect,
managing his steed with a cord fastened round the
under jaw. Three bounds placed him at Gordon's
side.

`How! metah kodah, what are you doing
here?' he asked.

`I have come to kill a cow for our people. Our
children are crying for food.'

`I have heard that you are as good a hunter as
if you had been born in a Dahcotah lodge. But
while you approach the buffalo beware that you
are not yourself approached.'

`Who should approach me, if not some of your
people? and they seldom come so low on the
river.'

`Listen. There is a hunter who thirsts for
your blood. It is the Englishman — the old woman
who persuaded me to come to Pembinaw.
Do you see, yonder?' he continued, pointing to
a distant strip of wood, such as always fringes the
border of a prairie stream. `He is there, and
nineteen half-breeds with him. There were twenty
this morning.' Drawing his robe aside, he
showed a scalp in his belt. `Keep a good watch

to-night, for they have been watching your boat
all day.'

`You have killed one of his followers then.
Why did you so? And why should he seek our
lives? None of us ever opposed his trade.'

`He hates you, and if you encamp on this side
of the river, not one of you will see the sun rise
tomorrow. I was in quest of the Khakhatons
with ten men, when we discovered the party.
They were too many for us, but I was resolved
not to return home without a scalp, and followed
them. A man without a scalp is lying below the
river bank yonder, with an arrow sticking in him.
I saw that he was a Khakhaton by his features.
Besides, these mongrels spoil our hunting grounds.
They ride hundreds together and scare away the
buffalo. I will not suffer them to hunt on my
land.'

`I cannot return to the boat empty. Our women
are dying with hunger. I must kill something,
cost what it may.'

`That is the way with you men who wear hats.
You go through fire for your women. But I have
provided for that too. Do you see the wood at
yonder bend of the river? I killed a fat cow,
and hung its flesh in those branches at noon.
Your big canoe will soon be there; but mount
behind me and we will be before it. Come, jump
up.'

Gordon sprang on the horse behind him, and
half an hour's ride brought them to the spot.
Gordon had began to thank the chief, but the latter
cut him short. `When your big canoe arrives,'

said he, `make a fire and eat. Then as
soon as it is dark, leave the camp and hide yourselves.
Do not suffer yourselves to be surprised.
I will be nigh you, and ten good bows shall not
be wanting, in time of need. But stay — I have a
pistol that is useless for want of ammunition;
give me some of yours.' And having tied up the
powder and ball he received from Gordon in the
corner of his calico shirt, with a sinew, he galloped
away through the wood.

When the boat rounded to at the spot where
he was standing, our hero communicated the intelligence
he had obtained to Mr Semple, and recommended
to place the women and children in
safety on the opposite shore, while the men should
remain, and expect the half-breeds. `We can
make a breastwork of logs,' he said, to compensate
for the disparity of numbers, and we shall
have the Sioux on our side.'

But to these and many more good reasons for
fighting, Governor Semple gave no heed. He resolved
to follow Wawnahton's advice to the letter.

The engagés had toiled all day; but the sight
of the meat gave them fresh spirits. They kindled
a huge fire, and beguiled the time with their
pipes, and a greasy pack of cards. They even
heard the announcement that their labor had not
ceased, without a murmur. They did not ask Mr
Semple's reasons; it was enough for them that he
was their bourgeois; but they said to one another,
that Monsieur Gordon had probably seen signs of
Indians.

It would be difficult to find a people so well

fitted to endure the hardships of the Indian trade
as the Canadians. They assume the manners
and habits of the aborigines with perfect ease.
For a stipend of from one to two hundred dollars
per annum, they toil incessantly, through hot and
cold, wet and dry. Carrying heavy burthens on
their heads, laboring at the oar, wading for hours
in rapids, and half the time subsisting on food that
our dogs would reject, they are always polite
and cheerful, and generally obedient.

On this occasion, when the repast was over, a
number of large logs were laid on the fire, that its
continued light might deceive the enemy, and the
party were ordered to embark. The oars were
muffled with strips of buffalo skin, and after rowing
a few hours they put ashore and passed the
rest of the night without molestation.

7. CHAPTER VII.

Goveror Semple was prepared to find misery
at Pembinaw, but the reality was beyond his expectations.

On his arrival, when he asked where
the town might be, his attendants pointed to thirty
or forty wretched huts, scattered along the bank
for a mile. Cameron's house, and the buildings
in the Company's fort above, were, indeed, comfortable;
for they had been erected by Canadian
hands; but those built by the Scotch and Swiss,
seemed about to fall with their own weight. Everything
wore the garb of poverty. The colonists
were ragged, and their sunken faces and hollow
eyes told a tale of dearth and distress. The
people angling, or drawing nets in the river, and
the heaps of the offals of fishes before the doors,
shewed how the inhabitants had for a long time
subsisted. The very dogs seemed conscious of
the general desolation. In a camp of half-breeds
and gens libres, hard by, there were no such appearances.
Dirt there was, and to spare, about
their leathern tents; but nothing looked like starvation.
They had of late found no buffaloes, but
they took the beaver, otter, muskrat, and other
animals, whose flesh, though not acceptable to a
well educated palate, goes down very well with
the rangers of the prairie. The poor emigrants,
unaccustomed to such circumstances, were compelled
to buy meat of these people at enormous
prices, or go without. The fishery was their main
dependence.

The meeting between Flora and her father was
far from joyful. She flung herself on his neck
and wept. He was highly displeased when he
heard that Gordon had been passing his time
at Fort Douglass. `I did not think,' he said,

`when they told me he was gone to the hunting,
what game he was after. And I dare to say, you
were very glad to be so near him.' But when
he was informed that our hero's deportment toward
her had been distant; and that he had rendered
the party a great service, on their journey,
he was somewhat mollified.

Once installed in her new habitation, Flora discovered
to whom her father was indebted for it.
She found her name carved in several places on
the timber, and on inquiry learned who had built
the house. Yet she did not communicate her
discoveries to her parent.

On his part, he found no opportunity to turn
his agricultural acquirements to advantage: he
was unused to the climate, and the colonists would
not follow his advice with regard to their preparations
for the ensuing season.

Famine soon stared the settlers in the face.
The river closed, and Governor Semple promulgated
an edict, directing that a part of all provisions
passing through the territory should be taken
for the use of the settlers. In pursuance of this
law, Deputy Governor M'Donald seized a large
quantity of provision, that an agent of the North-west
Company was taking down the Assinneboin
River, and sent a part of it to Pembinaw. The
whole country was in a blaze, in consequence, and
the partners of the aggrieved company met to devise
measures of retaliation.

But as the food thus obtained did not last long,
though sparingly distributed, Governor Semple
hired fifty half-breeds to hunt for the colonists.

He advised the latter to accompany the hunters
into the plains. That they might comply with
his counsel, he furnished them with lodges, bought
of the Indians, to encamp in; and with horses and
carts to transport their families and baggage.

A herd of cattle was known to be at the river
Aux Parcs, and thither the hunters were directed
to go and encamp, and afterwards follow the animals
in their migrations, like Indians. The procession
was a curious one. There was a long
line of upwards of an hundred rudely constructed
carts, each conducted by a man on foot. They
were laden with tents, bedding, &c. On the
tops were seated the women and children. The
spouses of the emigrants had found it expedient
to adopt the costume of the half-breed females,
as better adapted to the country than their own.
It consists of a short waisted upper garment, cut
and shaped like a hussar jacket, and a skirt, with
a pair of leggins; all of cloth. A pair of moccasins,
sometimes ornamented with porcupine's
quills, a knife stuck in the girdle, and the hair
hanging down the back in a queue as thick and
as long as a large Bologna sausage, completed the
toilet. Some of these ladies wore caps, some
men's hats, and others were bare headed. At
least twenty distinct languages were spoken in the
cavalcade; all nations seeming to have sent their
representatives, excepting the United States; for,
strange to say, there was not a Yankee there. The
half-breeds had indeed heard of a shrewd, swapping,
bargaining race, called the Bostonois; but
none could tell in what part of the world they resided,

or who was their king. Not the least
amusing of the appurtenances to our travellers,
were the dog sledges, (for there was a light snow
on the ground) each drawn by three or four large,
wolfish dogs, tandem; their harnesses ornamented
with ribbons and hawk-bells. The running
horses too, the finest of the breed, were caparisoned
after the Indian fashion. Some of them
were decorated with collars of scarlet cloth; rewards
bestowed on the animals by their owners
for exertions in the chase. Altogether, a painter
might go far before he would find so picturesque
a subject for his pencil as the group we have attempted
to describe.

Cameron accompanied the hunters; and his
daughter, notwithstanding his remonstrances, resolved
to go with him. When told that they
might be attacked by the Sioux, she replied, that
those who remained, were in still more danger
from the myrmidons of the Northwest Company.
When the hardships and privations of Indian life
were urged on her consideration, she said, that
her father's advanced age and infirmity rendered
her attentions the more necessary, under such circumstances.

Gordon rode with the hunters. In two days
they reached the river Aux Parcs, and encamped
near a large herd of cattle. It was decided that
a hunt should take place the next morning, and
guns were cleaned, and knives sharpened accordingly.

At sunrise, the hunters mounted and divided into
parties, of which each had its allotted duties.

The women ascended a rising ground to witness
the sport. The animals were peacefully grazing,
a league to the northward of the camp. There
was a slight western breeze, and to avoid being
scented [53] by the buffaloes, those whose part it
was to raise them, made a circuit eastward, so
that they might run toward the camp. They advanced
first on horseback, and then on foot, leading
their steeds by the bridles. When within two
hundred yards, the animals ceased feeding, and
gazed attentively. `Mount!' cried our hero, and
in an instant each was in his saddle. The buffaloes
started, and the hunters followed, not however
at full speed. When within a mile of the
camp, other horsemen started from the hollows on
the flanks, and the firing commenced. Each hunter
carried his balls in his mouth, and the aperture
of his horn was made large, that the powder
might escape freely.

The party in the rear now closed on the herd.
The buffalo, when urged to speed, has the gait of
the swine, that is, the fore and hind legs are lifted
alternately, and together, producing a motion something
like that of a rocking-horse. The horses
trained to the chase acquire a similar pace, and
run beside the victim just far enough from him to
get out of the way of his horns when he turns
upon them, which he commonly does, when
wounded. The rider, holding his piece stiffly
with both hands, fires at the heart, and at the report
the horse sheers off. The hunter loads again
at full speed. When a buffalo is struck, it becomes
the property of him who has inflicted the wound,

and is left to be despatched at leisure. Though
the sport is in appearance very dangerous, few
accidents occur.

All these evolutions were witnessed by Flora
from the stand she had taken with her father.
Her cheek grew pale, for her lover was the foremost
of the riders. Apart from this, the scene
was terrific for a woman to look upon: the thundering
tramp of the drove, the distended nostrils
of the horses, as they fled from the wounded animals,
the shouts of the hunters at each successful
aim, the reports of the guns, and the whistling of
bullets were too much for the nerves of Flora
Cameron. An incident occurred that affected
her yet more.

Reckless of hoofs and horns, Gordon had nine
times ridden into the centre of the herd, and had
each time brought down a buffalo. As the chase
drew nigh the spot where Flora stood, he naturally
became anxious to signalize his courage and
dexterity before her eyes. There was among the
rest a bull, three years old, that had turned repeatedly
on the pursuers, and given them no little
trouble, and Gordon resolved to attack him. Attached
to the neck of his steed was a long hair
rope, such as the Indians use to tether their running
horses. Our cavalier dashed at the bull and
fired, but the ball missed the heart, and passed
through a sensitive part of the intestines. The
beast rushed upon him, with a frightful roar; but
the horse, true to its training, swerved, and would
have carried him off clear, had not the rope above

mentioned slipped from its fastening, and trailed
on the ground thirty feet behind. At the end was
a running noose, into which the bull put his hoof,
going near to throw the horse at every bound.
At this sight Flora screamed, and fell to the ground
senseless.

Gordon's horse, thus entangled, plunged forward,
and the buffalo followed, the one unable to
lessen, and the other to increase the distance between
them. In this deadly peril, although his
steed reeled and was thrice thrown upon its knees,
the bois brulé did not lose his seat or his presence
of mind. Shifting his gun to his left hand, he
unsheathed his knife with his right, and stooping
on his courser's neck, severed the rope. The
bull continued his furious course, and pitched with
a tremendous bellow, headlong to the ground, so
near to Flora that the blood spouted from his nostrils
upon her dress in a stream. The animal
made a few convulsive struggles, and expired.

Gordon sprang from his horse, and ran to where
Cameron was standing over his daughter, wringing
his hands in utter anguish. Snatching a cup
from one of the women, he ran with the speed of
a frighted cabri [54] to where a hole had been
cut in the ice of the river. In less than two minutes
he returned, and raising Flora on his knee,
he sprinkled her face with water. A faint sigh
announced that she was reviving, and the first
word she pronounced was his name. The women
now cried that they would bring a dog sledge
to convey her to the camp, but Gordon spared

them the trouble. He took her in his arms and
carried her to her father's lodge.

The hunt had terminated, and the women, accustomed
to such service, harnessed the dogs and
draught horses, and proceeded to where the men
were employed in cutting up the buffaloes they had
killed. The carts were filled with meat. The
dog sledges were laden, (at the rate of an hundred
pounds to each dog,) and all returned happy
to the lodges. An hundred buffaloes had that
day been slain.

Now came the joys of boiling and roasting.
The humps, esteemed the best part of the buffalo,
were cooked for immediate use, and not to
be forgotten are the tongues, still less the delicious
marrow bones; to taste which is worth a journey
across the Atlantic. The next business was to
cure the meat, which was accomplished by a very
simple process. It was cut into very thin slices
and hung up in the smoke of the lodges. In this situation
it soon becomes perfectly exsiccated, and as
hard as wood. The worst parts were reserved
for pemican. When the meat was perfectly cured,
several cart loads were sent to Pembinaw.
More chases took place, and consequently more
remittances of provisions. The camp was repeatedly
moved, in order to keep nigh the buffalo.
At last, they thought they had collected food
enough for the winter. But a new herd arriving
in the vicinity, they could not resist the temptation,
and resolved to have one more hunt before
they departed.

8. CHAPTER VIII.

In the morning on which the hunt was to have
taken place, Cameron walked up the bed of the
river on the ice, to the place where the horses
were grazing on the rushes. As he turned a
short bend, he perceived a party of Indians among
the animals, and turned about to retrace his steps
to the camp. But he had been seen, and his retreat
was cut off. Matters being in this state, he
cried for help. Two Indians came up to him
with threatening gestures. They seized him by
the arms, and hurried him off at the utmost speed
he was capable of exerting. They did not appear
disposed to harm him, but they significantly
put their fingers to their lips and drew their knives,
to let him know that silence would be his wisest
course. His first cry had, however, given the

alarm, and the gens libres and half-breeds came
running to save their horses. Gordon was the
foremost. He came on shouting, and discharged
his piece with effect at one of the hindmost of the
marauders. Then seeing what had happened to
Cameron, he gained upon his captors till they,
aware of his pursuit, turned. A ravine twentyfive
feet broad was between them. One of the savages,
seeing the rescue inevitable, loosened his hold
upon the old man, and drew an arrow to the head
to kill him; but Gordon, exerting the physical
powers of which he possessed an uncommon
share, cleared the chasm at one bound, and felled
the Indian to the earth with the butt end of his
piece. The other uttering a wild shriek, recoiled
a few paces, and let fly an arrow at Gordon. It
glanced upon his powder horn, and struck Cameron
in the breast, where it buried itself to the feather.
Before the archer had time to draw another
shaft, Gordon was upon him. Leaping up,
he struck the Indian in the chest with his heels
and beat him to the earth; at the same receiving
a deep wound in the leg from his knife. They
grappled, but the struggles of the savage were unavailing.
Few men could have contended with
Gordon at any time, but now, he contended with
tenfold energy. Seizing the wrist of his prostrate
foe, he buried his dague, or broad knife, three
times in his bosom. The whole passed in a moment,
and the foremost of the half-breeds came
up just as the Indian drew his last breath.

Gordon stood for a moment irresolute. The
horse stealers had begun to recover from their

confusion, and rally. At that moment one of the
free men, named Le Gros, reached the spot.
`Le Gros,' cried Gordon, `take care of the old
man. Carry him to the camp, and I will fight for
both of us.'

`Monsieur Gourdon,' answered the Canadian,
`he is dead. It is of no use to waste time on
him. Let us rather try to save the rest of the
horses.'

`No, no, he is not dead. I tell you he is not
dead. Carry him to the camp, and he may recover.
He cannot if he is left here. For God's
sake carry him to his daughter. If you do not, I
shall be obliged to do it myself.'

`I would willingly listen to your commands at
any other time, Monsieur, but see, that rascal in
green paint is already riding on my best horse,
and there are two fellows on foot trying to catch
the other.'

`You greedy rascal!' Gordon begun, but seeing
that hard words would have no effect, he continued,
`I think I am more likely to regain your
horses than yourself, Le Gros, and I promise you
I will do it, if I can. If I do not succeed, I will
pay you any price you ask for them: my word is
good, I suppose.'

`O yes; your word is as good as the money.
I will get my dogs, and carry the old man to his
lodge; but remember, Monsieur Gourdon, I have
refused an hundred and fifty dollars apiece for
my horses. Do you hear, Monsieur? I say I
shall expect something over an hundred and fifty
dollars apiece, if you do not recover them.'

`I will pay it; I will pay it. But go, go now,
for the love of God;' and Le Gros departed.

The marauders were a band of roving Yanktons,
under a petty chief called Nopah Keon, or
`he who has twice flown.' M'Leod had had an
interview with this dignitary, and engaged him by
the promise of liquor, guns, blankets, and other articles
held in high esteem by the Indians, to endeavor
to get Flora Cameron and her father into
his power. This effected, he had no doubt that
he should be able to make his addresses acceptable.
With this view, Nopah Keon had approached
the half-breed camp, but the sight of the horses
proved too strong a temptation to his followers.
Seeing their cupidity could not be restrained,
the wily savage resolved to take advantage of
it to promote his designs. He detached ten men,
and gained the woods in the rear of the camp,
while the rest were busied catching the horses.
They dismounted, and under the cover of the trees
and underbrush, approached the lodges. There
they waited till the alarm, which they had no
doubt would be soon given, should deprive the
women and children of protection. The lodge of
Cameron, as well as his person and that of his
daughter, had been so well described to them,
that there was no danger of a mistake. But to do
M'Leod justice, he had given strict orders that no
violence, farther than was necessary to insure their
capture, should be done to Cameron or his
daughter.

But to return; Gordon, as soon as he was relieved
from the care of the old man, hastened to

bring the hunters into some order: courage they
did not want. Nor were the Sioux unmindful of
the Indian policy of war. They all dismounted,
and the stolen horses were given in charge to
those of the party least remarkable for skill and
bravery. Each of these led five or six of the
animals out of the mélée, while a part of the warriors
checked the advance of the half breeds.
Other some occupied themselves in catching the
borses that yet ran at large. This was not effected
without difficulty. The animals were frightened,
and ran about in disorder.

Shots and arrows were exchanged incessantly,
but with little damage to either side. Both parties
took advantage of the trees, and besides, constantly
leaped about, so as to baffle any aim that
might be taken with arrow or bullet. Some gallant
charges were made by individuals on both
sides, but the success generally amounted to driving
the opponent from his cover, for none of the
combatants thought of standing a conflict hand to
hand. This could not last long. By dint of entreaty
and exhortation, Gordon at last prevailed
on the half-breeds to act together. They raised
the war whoop, and drove the Sioux from their
covers at once. This was not done without losing
two men, and the savages suffered still more.
Five of their number fell, two wounded, and three
killed, all of whom were instantly divested of their
scalps. By this time, the Indians appointed to
catch the horses had fully succeeded. They
stood in the open prairie, with the animals around
them, each with a rope bridle in its mouth. The

Sioux, driven from the wood by the furious charge
of the half-breeds, rushed towards them, and in
an instant each was mounted. The two belonging
to Le Gros, more frightened than the rest,
had dragged the Indian who held them to a distance
from the others. Perceiving this, Gordon,
calling to a man of Kinisteneau blood, named Dés
Champs, ran towards them. They both came up,
just as the Indian was about springing upon the
back of one of the horses. Each knife was
sheathed in his vitals in an instant, and while Dés
Champs held the creatures by the bridle, our hero
turned to the assistance of his party. It was in
vain. The Dahcotahs had mounted and were
already far away. At a great distance, Gordon
saw ten or a dozen horsemen emerge from the
bed of the river and ride in a direction crossing
the course of the retreating party.

Our hero was then first sensible that he was
wounded. In the heat of combat, he had paid
no attention to the circumstance; but now, his leg
stiffened, and he began to be exhausted by the
loss of blood. Dés Champs proposed to carry
him to the camp on one of the horses he had assisted
to rescue, but this was found impracticable.
An arrow had lodged in the body of one of them,
and the other had a leg broken by a bullet. They
had not a blanket with them, in which to carry
him, and he was totally unable to walk or stand.
He had no option but to remain where he was,
until one of the men could go to the camp, and
return with a dog sledge. This service Dés
Champs volunteered to perform.

A fire was soon kindled, the snow was cleared
away, hay was cut, and he sat down before it.
His leg was washed with snow, and the bleeding
staunched with the linen of his own shirt. In an
incredibly short space Dés Champs returned, for
he was the swiftest runner in the north-west. He
said nothing to any one, nor would he answer any
questions, but his brow spoke volumes. It was
observed too, that he had but two dogs harnessed
to the sledge. This was no objection, as two
draught dogs are abundantly able to draw a man;
yet it appeared singular that he had not taken
three out of so many. The dogs were white,
and their coats were stained with blood; yet this
on another occasion would have excited no attention:
they might have fought with some of their
own species, or at any rate there was enough
fresh meat in the camp to account for their appearance.

Some of the hunters scraped away the snow,
and began to dig graves in the frozen earth, with
their knives, for their fallen comrades. Others
placed Gordon upon the sledge and set off with
him to the camp. It presented a scene of desolation.
Five or six women lay on the ground in
different places, tomahawked and scalped. Before
the door of Cameron's lodge, lay Le Gros,
with five arrows sticking in his body. He too
had lost his scalp, but the body of a Yankton lying
a few paces from him, showed that he had not
fallen alone. His teeth were close, his features still
gave token of firm resolution, and he held a pistol,
with the cock down, in his hand. Cameron

was lying in his lodge, helpless. The arrow had
not been withdrawn, but he still breathed. Flora
was nowhere to be found. When Gordon was
apprised of these sad tidings, he was for a moment
paralyzed. But soon recovering, he directed
Dés Champs and others, to examine the premises.
Of this there was no need: the women
who had fled and concealed themselves, at the appearance
of Nopah Keon, were soon found.

They said, that while they watched the event of
the battle, an armed band of Yanktons entered
the camp from the rear. Le Gros had deposited
old Cameron on his bed, and had issued from the
lodge, just as the savages broke in. He was immediately
killed, and the women and children did
not all escape, as has been already seen. The
Indian whose medal, &c, [55] declared him a chief,
entered Cameron's lodge, which he directly knew,
for on it was depicted a man in the act of shooting
a deer. What passed in the lodge they could
not tell, but presently the savage came forth, bearing
Flora in his arms, insensible. He carried her
into the woods, and what became of her afterwards
they knew not. The researches of Dés
Champs showed that the Yanktons had had horses
in the wood, and that they had taken a north-ward
course. But no blood was in their tracks,
and a small comb, belonging to Flora, was picked
up at some distance from the spot where the party
had taken horse; whence they concluded that
she had been carried off unharmed.

Gordon would fain have persuaded the half-breeds
to pursue; but they would not listen to the

proposal. Their best horses were carried off, the
Indians had two hours the start, and they would
not leave their wives and children without protection.
He could do nothing himself, for he was so
much exhausted with loss of blood, that he could
not move without assistance.

The arrow was drawn from Cameron by an
old half-breed, commonly called Le Docteur, from
his skill in surgery and simples. It was not done
without difficulty, much care being requisite to
prevent the iron head from coming off in the
wound. [56] The old man sighed heavily, and inquired
for his daughter. When told what had
befallen her, his senses failed him, and the syncope
was renewed.

When he recovered, he called for Gordon.
The young man was assisted into his presence,
and sat down beside him. Cameron feebly stretched
out his hand toward him. `I have sinned, I
have sinned,' said he, `I have listened to the voice
of pride and vain glory rather than to natural affection,
and He has laid his hand heavily on me
for it.' And he groaned aloud.

Gordon spoke words of comfort to the afflicted
parent, and said that as soon as he was able to sit
upon a horse, he would redeem his daughter from
captivity, or perish in the attempt.

`Do so, do so,' said the old man. `Rescue
her from this worse than Egyptian bondage, and
she is yours. I refused you before, and grievously
am I punished for it.'

`I will. If it be in the power of man I will
do it.'

`And I will go with you, Monsieur Gourdon,'
said Dés Champs, moved to tears, by the sight of
so much misery. `You shall not want the aid
that one hand can bestow.'

Indeed, Gordon was highly popular among the
people of the country. His great bodily powers,
his splendid courage, and his reckless generosity,
were of all qualities the most likely to gain him
the good will of such a race. Of his talents
and acquirements they knew nothing, nor would
they have cared for them if they had, but his
valor they had witnessed, and they had profited
by his expenditure. Flora was no less beloved.
Her kindness for the aged and infirm, and the affability
of her manners, had made her deservedly
a favorite. They all pitied her condition, yet
such is the inconsistency of poor human nature,
that none but Dés Champs would risk anything
for her relief.

Luckily for all concerned the Yanktons had
contented themselves with taking the running
horses, esteeming those destined to draught
slightly. In the morning, Gordon and Cameron
were placed in a cart, which was driven by Dés
Champs. The women and children were disposed
of in a similar manner, and they departed
for Pembinaw, less joyful than they came. In
three days they reached the fort. The greater
number of the men had remained to take care of
the camp, and the carts made several trips, before
the meat and baggage were transported to the settlement.

9. CHAPTER IX.

Cameron remained in a state of utter helplessness.
His lungs were injured, and bled inwardly,
and he was perfectly aware that his wound was
mortal. But for aught that appeared, he might
survive till spring. One morning a large body of
horsemen were descried in the prairie, at a considerable
distance. The worthy governor had
received intimations of an attack intended by the
Northwest Company, and felt assured that these
men were not reconnoitring the place with peaceable
intent. He issued orders for a party of
twenty men to assemble in arms, forthwith, and
his command was promptly obeyed. He put
himself at their head, and issued forth, leaving instructions
for the male part of the population to
be in readiness to repel any attack, and for a part
of them to advance to his support with a small
piece of artillery, in case help should be needed.

As he advanced, he found the number of his
opponents was five times greater than that of his
own escort, and he despatched a man to the rear

to order up the gun, and then advanced within
speaking distance of the enemy. They were under
the command of Cuthbert Grant, who had
caused them to dismount, and draw up in good
order. Most of them had their faces painted
black, after the custom of the Indians.

`Who are you, and what do you want?' cried
the governor, advancing on foot and alone, to within
five paces of them.

It chanced that the half breed in front of him
still remained on horseback. This fellow was a
noted desperado, and was known by the name of
Peter Pangman, or the Bostonois. He it was,
who took upon himself to answer the governor.

`You villain,' said he, `we want our provisions,
of which you have robbed us.'

`Rogue! do you dare to call me so?' said
Semple, losing patience at the epithet. `I will
make you repent your insolence.'

At this moment a gun was discharged at the
governor, by whom, never appeared. The ball
passed through his thighs. He did not fall, but
stood, unable to move, on the spot where he had
received the wound. The flash was followed by
a general discharge of fire arms from the party of
Cuthbert Grant, upon the governor's people.
Those of them who were not killed on the spot,
scattered and fled, and Grant's partizans broke
their ranks and pursued. They fully proved
their claim to Indian birth. Their savage kindred
could not have behaved with more barbarity.
Of twentytwo men that had come to the field, in
ten minutes, but three were left alive: two, severely

wounded, who had been saved from the
fury of their assailants by Grant; for to do him
justice, he did all in his power to mitigate the horrors
of the scene. The other had fallen to the
ground, in an agony of terror; three men had
fallen upon him, and he owed his life to the supposition
that he was dead.

When the unfortunate governor was wounded,
he turned to Grant, who stood near him. `You
are a gentleman,' said he, `and I beg you to save
my life.' Grant ordered Peter Pangman to take
care of him, and hastened away, saying that his
presence was needed elsewhere. Pangman looked
malignantly at the wounded man. `Do you
think me a rogue now?' asked he. `If you were
not,' answered Semple, `you would not be here.
But if anything befalls me, your own neck may
pay for it.' Pangman called the Indian, Joe, the
same who had assisted at the murder of Cavenny,
and whose tomahawk, hands and face, were already
painted bloody red. He spoke some words
to the savage, in Chippeway, and left him with
the prisoner. The latter saw that his last hour
was come. He closed his hands upon his breast
and his lips moved in prayer, though no sound
came from them. The Indian stole behind him
unheeded. One crashing blow, and the unfortunate
gentleman lay as lifeless as the corpses
around him.

The party with the piece of ordnance had advanced
half way from the fort, when the firing
commenced. Seeing the fate of their fellows
they halted, pointed the gun at the band of butchers,

fired, and fled for their lives. The ball did
no other harm than to kill a horse, but it had the
effect to assemble the banditti round their leader.
They had tasted blood, and were now clamorous
to proceed to the settlement and slaugher every
person in it. `Do you see my horse lying there,
Monsieur Grant?' said Pangman. `May I die
in mortal sin, if I do not have amends of these accursed
planters for killing him.' And he crossed
himself very devoutly. But Grant saw that too
much had been done. He had received orders
from his principals to take the fort, seize the provisions
and merchandise, and make prisoners of
all within, but his instructions were peremptory, to
do no bodily injury to any one, if he could void
it. He was himself, little disposed to commit any
violence, but he was as fully possessed of the doctrine
of implicit obedience to his bourgeois, as the
voyageurs themselves. At present, however, he
saw that reproaching his too zealous followers
would have no good effect; and he contented
himself with telling them that he dared not proceed
without further orders from his principals.
He informed them too, that their necks were in
danger for what they had done, a piece of intelligence
that tended not a little to damp their ardor.
Pangman he assured of indemnity for his loss,
and concluded by telling them, that anything
more they might do, would neither be reckoned
good service by the company, nor rewarded as
such.

This reasoning was conclusive with a large majority
of them, and the more violent, finding they

were not likely to receive any support, and were
themselves too weak to do anything, came to the
resolution to obey Grant's orders. They all rode
off the field, therefore, leaving the dead bodies of
the slain to the wolves and ravens. The small
cannon before mentioned, they left on the field, for
they had not the means to carry it off.

As soon as they were gone, Pritchard, the man
whom they had supposed to be dead, rose, and
finding nothing to hinder him, walked to the fort.
Stupified as he had been with terror, he had yet
sense enough to perceive that the only way to
save his life, was to remain quiet, and leave them
in their error. But the shock had unsettled his reason.
He was a man about forty years old; when
he fell his hair was black, but when he arose, the
snow around him was not whiter. He found his
way to the fort, but to all interrogatories he responded
with an idiot star. He remained in
this condition for some weeks. He would sit for
hours in the same posture, his eyes covered with
his hands. When at last he recovered his sanity,
he was unable to give any account of what had
happened. He had vivid, though indistinct recollections
of a massacre, but could never connect
his ideas on the subject. Afterwards when required
to give evidence before a legal tribunal, his
testimony was set aside by the court on this account.

The command now devolved on Gordon, who
was little able to perform its duties. Yet he took
measures for defence. He withdrew the settlers
from their cabins into the fort, posted a regular

guard, and distributed arms and ammunition.
And he continued to visit his sentinels, on crutches,
till Deputy Governor M'Donald relieved him.

A voyageur arrived, sent by De Reinville, (a
trader at Lac au Travers) for a supply of merchandize.
This man brought no tidings of Flora,
but he informed our hero that the band of Wawnahton
was encamped on the Wild Rice River,
and thither Gordon resolved to go.

The more experienced of the Company's people
advised him to wait till the requested supply
should be despatched, when he might have the
advantage of the carts and dog sledges. But he
would brook no more delay, and departed on
horseback with Dés Champs, early in a cold morning
in January.

By short marches, for of long ones he was incapable,
Gordon approached the camp of Wawnahton.
A brother could not have tended him
with more attention than did Dés Champs. He
cared for the horses, prepared the food, and was
ever on the look out for roving bands of Indians,
from whom they might have sustained injury. But
luckily, none appeared. The only danger that
approached them, came in the questionable shape
of a grisly bear, and was removed from their
track by a bullet from Dés Champ's gun.

In nine days they came in sight of Shoankah
Kahpee, (the running dog) the oasis where the
tents of the Dahcotahs were pitched. Here it
behoved them to use the utmost caution, for
though they were sure of all kindness, when once
in the lodges, the Sioux would probably have

murdered them without scruple, had they found
them in the open prairie. They stopped where
they were, intending to enter the camp the next
morning, before the light, when the savages should
be asleep.

The night was cloudy, and toward morning
circumstances became favorable to their enterprise.
Before day-break, snow began to fall, and
the wind blew with tremendous violence. The
snow was lifted from the plains, and whirled about
in a thousand eddies, so obscuring the atmosphere
that objects could not be distinguished at the distance
of an hundred yards. In short it was one
of those tremendous storms called in the language
of the country poudries, in which neither the Indian
nor the hardy Canadian dares to stir abroad,
and the very wolves fly to the woods for shelter.
The temperature was not much below the freezing
point, but the wind pierced the garments of
our travellers like a knife. The tornado was just
the thing they wanted, being sure that none of
the Dahcotahs would be on the watch, and that
they might reach the doors of the lodges unobserved.
They saddled their horses, and following
the bed of the river, as a sure guide through the
gloom, advanced. The banks partially sheltered
them from the blast, though at times they were
almost blown off their steeds. Finding that riding
was the same thing as freezing, they dismounted,
and led their cattle by the bridles,
though the effort was exceedingly painful to Gordon.
After six hours of incessant and toilsome
exertion, they reached the camp. They heard

singing and dancing in the lodges, but none came
to question them. Turning their horses loose,
they advanced directly to the tent of Wawnahton,
(which had been minutely described) unmolested
by any but dogs.

10. CHAPTER X.

Gordon and his attendant entered at once.
The Dahcotah chief was sitting at the fire, carving
a pipe-stem. On their entrance he looked up, and
held out his hand. The women stunned the
visitors with their clamor, and the cry of `strangers
arrived' brought the whole band to the lodge
to gaze and ask questions. The wife of Wawnahton
cast a grateful glance of recognition on
Gordon, and spread a robe for him to sit on. She
then took off his moccasins, and gave him others
for present use. A dog was knocked in the
head, singed, and consigned to the kettle with all
haste. The chief took his pipe and otter-skin tobacco
pouch, and gave them to the visitors, in order
that they might smoke. The dog feast was
scarcely over, when they were asked to another in

a neighboring tent, and the day passed in the exercise
of over zealous hospitality.

The women set up the soldier's lodge in the
middle of the camp, for the use of the strangers,
and brought wood and water, without presuming
to enter. Thither our adventurers repaired, with
their blankets and horse furniture. One of their
saddles was missing, but as soon as Wawnahton
was apprised of the circumstance, a soldier, by his
order, perambulated the camp, proclaiming the
fact, and requiring whosoever might be in possession
of the lost article, to make instant restitution,
on pain of having his or her blanket and lodge cut
to pieces. A general search took place, and it
was discovered that a starving dog had dragged
the saddle into the bushes to eat the leather.[57]
The chief replaced it with one of his own.

At night the soldiers and old men assembled in
the lodge, to smoke and converse. When they
took leave, Wawnahton remained, and asked the
occasion of Gordon's visit. It was readily communicated.

The chief pondered awhile without speaking.
At last, having knocked the ashes from his pipe
for the tenth time, he broke silence. `Well, I
knew that Nopah Keon had a sick white woman
in his lodge, but had I known that she belonged to
you, he should not have kept her. But if you are
in want of a woman, you need not go so far as his
camp. Choose what girl you like best in my
band, and I will get her for you. Nay, you shall
have one of my wives, if you like that better.'

To this generous offer, Gordon returned a decided

negative. It was in vain to attempt to
make Wawnahton comprehend the nature of his
feelings toward Flora. In the opinion of the Indian,
a woman was but a kind of slave, or beast of
burthen. He might prefer one to another on account
of superior beauty or industry, or because
she was the mother of his children; but he had
no more conception of such love as Gordon's, than
of the most abstruse problem in Euclid. `Why
is your mind so set upon this girl?' said he. `Can
she work moccasins better than others? Can she
carry a heavier pack or dress a buffalo robe better?'
Being answered in the negative, he added,
`Well, you people with hats have strange notions.
But I will do as you would have me, notwithstanding.'

Gordon now proposed to the Dahcotah chief to
set off in quest of Miss Cameron on the morrow;
but the latter coolly replied that there was no occasion
for haste. Nothing is ever gained by hurrying
an Indian; so our hero was obliged to wait
with what patience he might.

During the night the storm ceased and the wind
fell. At sunrise the cold was excessive. The
smallest twigs were covered with a thick rime,
and the atmosphere was full of minute glittering
particles through which the sun looked, shorn of
his beams. At noon parhelia were seen in the
firmament, five in number, so brilliant that the
true Phœbus could not be distinguished from the
false. A solitary buffalo that approached the
camp, was shot, and a little redice trickled from the
wound. The squaws went to take a part of his

flesh, but he hardened under their knives, and
they were compelled to finish their task with
hatchets. The nearest wood was twelve miles
distant, and to attempt to reach it in such weather,
was certain death. The camp could not be removed
in these circumstances, and thus it remained
three days longer.

The fourth morning after, was mild for the season,
and the camp was raised. The horses and
dogs were laden, the tents were struck, and the
women made up their packs. All took the line
of march. The men walked or rode indolently
along, and the women followed, each bending under
an immense burthen, with perhaps an infant
on the top of all. The soldiers marched in front
and beat the path; and at every two or three
miles the whole procession stopped, to smoke and
eat.

Toward night they arrived at another island, or
oasis, near which a herd of buffaloes were grazing.
Arrived at a suitable spot to encamp, the foremost
soldier struck down a spear, surmounted with the
skin of a raven, his staff of office. As the band
came up, a dog passed this sacred emblem of authority.
It was instantly transfixed by a shaft
from one of the soldiers: a young man, who had
ran to arrest the animal, had his robe cut to pieces,
and was severely beaten with their bows. On
any other occasion, such an indignity would have
been requited with a stab, but the soldiers are an
honorable kind of police, and the exercise or
abuse of their authority is never resented. In
this case, their rigor was intended to prevent the

buffaloes from being frightened away, and they
took further measures to the same purpose. The
legs of the dogs were tied to their necks, the
horses were picketed, and the tents were pitched,
in precisely the same order in which they had
stood the night before.

A few of the wild cattle were killed for immediate
use. In the morning, the camp broke up,
and proceeded; but not to enlarge upon the incidents
of the journey, which would be a mere repetition
of what has already been related, after
six days' march, they arrived at the camp of Nopah
Keon. It was on the side of a small lake,
affording just wood enough for the kettles. A
scattering discharge of fire arms gave testimony
of the satisfaction of both parties at meeting; and
some hours were spent in feasting and rejoicing.

Gordon found no difficulty in penetrating into
the lodge where Flora lay. In an instant he was
on his knees at her side. `Flora, dear Flora,' he
cried, `nothing but death shall again sever us.'

The tears swam in her eyes; she smiled, and
faintly replied, `I had expected this of you, William;
but my eyes were long, long, wearied with
looking for you.'

`Do you think then, that I would have delayed
an instant, if I had known where to seek you, and
could have dragged one limb after the other?
Take back the unjust reproach.'

`I did not mean to reproach you; I had all
confidence in your affection; but I thought you
were dead.'

Flora informed our hero, that when she was
carried off, the agitation of her mind, and the fatigue
of her journey on horseback, had brought on
a fever, that had reduced her to the brink of the
grave. She had, however, received no maltreatment,
but had fared as well as the Indians themselves.
Her illness had been aggravated, she
said, by a proposal from Nopah Keon to become
his wife, which was interpreted to her by a trader
on a visit to the camp. She had been put in bodily
fear too, by one of the four wives of her captor,
who was jealous of a new competitor for her
lord's favor. And she had also suffered from the
urgency with which the old women recommended
their prescriptions; for with Indians, as with white
people, every one has a remedy for every disease,
and presses his advice. Neither had the dancing
and singing, intended to effect her cure, been of
any advantage, but rather the contrary.

She now inquired for her father, and Gordon,
afraid of a relapse, told her that Cameron was
severely wounded, but would, he hoped, soon
recover. He said too that the old man had made
her redemption from captivity the price of her
hand.

The crone who had been singing and shaking
a rattle by Flora's side, now imagined that Gordon's
visit portended no good to the interests of
Nopah Keon. She left the patient and repaired
to the lodge of the Grand Medicine, into which, as
she belonged to the fraternity, she was instantly
admitted.[58] Nopah Keon was celebrating the
mysterious rites of the institution, when she informed

him of what she had seen, but he was too
much engrossed with his own dignity to suffer his
occupation to be interrupted by anything relating
to a woman.

When Nopah Keon carried Flora off, he had no
other view than to deliver her into the hands of
M'Leod, and get the promised reward. As soon
as his party was out of danger of pursuit, he despatched
a messenger to inform that wretch of the
success of his machinations. The envoy did not
readily find the Scotchman, and in the meanwhile
the purpose of Nopah Keon changed. Nature
proved too strong for him: Miss Cameron's surpassing
beauty, though obscured by sickness,
awakened feelings in his bosom to which he had
hitherto been a stranger, and for which he could
not have accounted himself. He was wont to say
that he loved one of his four wives because she
had a still tongue, another for having given him
five boys, the third for her industry, and the fourth
because she was stronger than a horse. But if
any one had asked why he loved Flora better
than all four, he could only have replied, that such
was his pleasure. The band laughed at the love-struck
barbarian, for what they deemed his folly,
and his wives loaded him with reproaches. `See,'
said one of his wives, `your favorite cannot live
in a lodge. She is sick already, and will never
recover.' `She cannot carry so large a burthen
as a girl seven years old,' cried his prolific spouse.
`Who would have such an ugly, pale creature?'
exclaimed the third. `What is she good for?'
shouted the fourth.

Nevertheless his resolution remained unchanged,
and a trader who came to his camp with a
dog sledge loaded with merchandise, served him
as an interpreter to declare his love to its object.
He was in no wise daunted by the indignant scorn
and loathing with which she heard the proposal.
On the contrary, he resolved to compel her submission,
as soon as her health should be re-established,
for the idea of winning her heart by gentle
means never entered his head.

When M'Leod arrived, he was hospitably received,
but when he demanded that the prisoner
should be given up to him, Napah Keon desired
him to look round him, and take some other in
her stead. For a moment he was speechless
with astonishment, and then burst forth in a strain
of invective. But his rage made no more impression
upon the savage than rain does upon marble.

`Brother,' said He who had twice Flown, `it is
clear that you have been very ill educated, since
you talk so much like an angry woman. Your
heart is very weak. A man should bear so trifling
a loss with patience. There are plenty of
women in my camp, and I will give you any one
you please, if you cannot do without a wife. You
see that I am willing to deal justly with you; so
be not wroth, brother.'

`I will return with a band of half breeds, and
kill every one of you, if you do not give me the
white woman.'

`Ha, ha! The dogs dare not come to hunt
upon my grounds, unless a hundred together. I
shall grow gray waiting for them.'

`You will see whether it be so or not.'

`Be pacified, brother. Give me your hand in
friendship; and I will make up the loss to you.
There are many girls here that I can dispose of.'

Finding remonstrance useless, M'Leod gave
over. He refused to smoke with Nopah Keon,
or take his hand; affronts which the Dahcotah
laid up in his memory, to be remembered at a fitting
opportunity.

To return from this retrospect to the course of
our story; after the Great Medicine dance was
over, the two chiefs held a consultation. Wawnahton
urged on the unwilling attention of his
countryman, that four women were enough for
any man, and that by retaining Flora he would
incur the ill will of all the whites, and that she
was the wife of his comrade. If he must have a
fifth spouse, there was no father in the tribe but
would gladly bestow his daughter on such a warrior
and hunter. To each and all of these reasons
the chief was as deaf as the adder.

That the English girl could do no labor, he
knew, he said, but his other women should work
for her. He cared not for the enmity of the
whites; they were a race of old women, created
by the Great Spirit to make guns and blankets,
and to be servants to the Indians. If they should
withdraw their trade, (the worst evil they could inflict,)
the Yanktons need not care, as long as there
was wood enough in their country for bows, and
buffaloes for food and clothing. He had buried
the woman in his heart, and his wife she should be.

`You speak like a boy,' said Wawnahton, `not

like a wise man and a chief. This woman is not
a fit wife for a Dahcotah: moreover, her husband
is a soldier, and my comrade, and she must be
restored to him. He will kill you if you refuse.
Listen to me: return her, and I will give you ten
swift horses: If you will not, you shall be a chief
no longer. I will cut your lodges; and my people
shall kill all your horses and dogs. None
will listen to your voice afterwards. Think well
of it.'

Nopah Keon was compelled to submit. He
might brave the resentment of Gordon and the
whites with impunity, as he thought; but with
Wawnahton he was more likely to come in contact.

If he should, be contumacy, cause the horses of
his band, on which they mainly depended for support,
to be killed, he well knew that his authority
and influence were at an end. This was the evil
he most dreaded, and he therefore yielded with
the best grace he could.

`It is but a woman,' he said, `and two chiefs
should not quarrel for so small a matter. I will
take the horses you offer, for my people are much
in want of them. Take her, and do what you
will with her.'

She was soon conveyed by Gordon and Dés
Champs to the soldiers' lodge. This was contrary
to Indian usages, no woman having been ever
before suffered to profane that sanctuary. When
informed that she was a prisoner no longer, she
held out her hand to her lover. `It is of little
worth, dear William,' said she, `but such as it is,

you have won it over and over again. Take it:
my heart goes with it.'

The horses were easily procured by Wawnahton,
and given as the price of her ransom. In
two days a dog sledge was made, with axes
and knives only. This vehicle is constructed of
two boards, about half an inch thick, eight inches
wide, and ten feet long. They are fastened together
with cletes, and the end is turned up like the
toe of a skate, that it may slip easily over the snow.
The whole is sewed with thongs of raw hide. Such
as are intended for the conveyance of the traveller,
have a structure upon them, in shape like the body
of a sleigh, made of parchment. Such a one was
arranged for Flora. The women of the band
gave her buffalo robes, and the grateful wife of the
chief bestowed upon her and Gordon her whole
stock of ornamented moccasins, the work of a
year; and which had been intended for herself and
her husband. Wawnahton resolved to escort them
to Pembinaw, with thirty of his best warriors. All
preparations for the journey were completed, and
even in the short time they had been in the camp,
Flora's condition was visibly improved.

In the morning all was ready for departure.
The young lady was carefully placed in her little
cariole, and covered with robes. The chief's wife
laid her hands on her head, wept and sung her regret
that she should never behold her again, her
hopes that she might find her husband faithful and
kind, and that she might be the joyful mother of a
boy, before the year should elapse. This ceremony

over, they departed, and were saluted as they
had been on their arrival.

Nothing material occurred on the journey. Flora's
health mended from day to day, and by the
time they came in sight of Pembinaw river she
was almost well, and Gordon's wound was nearly
healed.

About two miles from the fort, they were perceived
by its inmates. Great terror and confusion
was the consequence, until one of the company's
clerks ascertained, by means of a spy glass, that
two white men, and a woman, were among the
Indians. Wawnahton and his men did not care
to go to the fort, though Gordon endeavored to
persuade them, and assured them they might do so
in safety. They remembered that the band of
Nopah Keon had lately killed several of the colonists,
and judging of the customs of the whites by
their own, they dared not venture among the
friends of the slain. A long colloquy was held
between Wawnahton and Gordon, the former
pressing upon the conviction of the latter the magnitude
of his services, and the propriety of giving
him a suitable reward. He wanted a few guns,
blankets, kettles, axes, &c. for himself and his
people, and he did not forget to mention that a
quantity of silver brooches, arm-bands, wampum,
beads, and above all a great keg of spirits, would
be very acceptable. They might be sent, he said,
by De Reinville, to Lac au Travers. Gordon
would fain have had him repair to the Company's
store at once, and there receive all that could be
spared, but no man is equally brave at all times,

and Wawnahton was not just then in a humor to
throw away his body. Gordon promised, however,
to comply with all his requisitions in his own
way, and after shaking hands very affectionately,
they parted forever.

11. CHAPTER XI.

Half an hour, and they were in the fort. Flora
flew to her father's bed side, and was dreadfully
shocked at his reduced and miserable appearance.
At her entrance the old man turned his eyes, that
shone with a feverish brilliancy, and beheld his
daughter. `And are you here, my dear child, at
last?' said he. You are just in time to close the
eyes of your old father.'

`No, no, my father, do not say so,' said Flora,
speaking as fast as her sobs would let her.

`Not so, my child, my days, nay, my hours, are
numbered. No man ever recovered from such a
wound as mine. Perhaps you will be an orphan
before sunset. But have done sobbing, and listen
to the last command that I shall utter. I have
promised that Gordon shall marry you. Do not
turn away your head; this is no time to play the
coquette. Send for My Lord, he is a magistrate;
and let me see you have a protector instantly.

Send for him and Gordon, and let the ceremony
be performed; and then I can depart in peace.'

There was no need to send for Gordon: he had
stood at the door and heard all. He advanced to
the bed side. `Father,' said he, `if I have had
evil thoughts of you, they are now removed. Believe
me, your child shall never have cause to repent
your goodness.'

`But father,' said Flora, `this is no time for
marrying, or giving in marriage. Consider the
shortness of the notice.'

`But me no buts; what need have you of any
more preparation. There is many a high born
dame who would be glad to change looks with you,
and give gold into the bargain, simple as you stand
there. Obey me, I charge you. Come hither,
young man, and take her hand. God bless you
both. May your lives be happier than mine, and
that your end may not be the same, leave this accursed
country, where God is not feared, nor his
image respected. But I feel my end draw nigh:
go, William, for his lordship; or I shall not see
myself obeyed.'

Gordon left the weeping bride to seek the Earl
of Selkirk.

When the Earl entered, he took Flora in his
arms, and imprinted a paternal kiss on her forehead.
He then congratulated her on her escape
from the Indians, which he attributed entirely to
the gallantry and perseverance of her lover, who,
he said, had fairly won her in the fashion of the
days of chivalry.

The old man now said to his lordship that he

felt his breath failing fast, and desired him to proceed
with the ceremony. When it was completed,
the parties most interested turned towards him.
They spoke to him, but he did not answer. He
was dead.

During Gordon's absence, the myrmidons of the
Northwest, under the command of M'Leod, had
taken the Company's fort at Pembinaw. They
had plundered the stores, and destroyed the implements
of husbandry belonging to the colonists;
whom they had, moreover, maltreated and menaced
with expulsion. Under these circumstances
many of the emigrants, driven to despair, and
not knowing where to go, entered the service of
the Northwest.

The Earl of Selkirk heard of these outrages at
Quebec, and took measures to put a stop to them.
He procured several magistrate's commissions
from the Governor General; with the names left
blank, in order that they might be filled at his discretion.
Making all haste to Ossinneboia, he collected
all the men that could be spared from the
Hudson's Bay Company's posts on the route, and
enlisted as many of the gens libres as he could.
The tables were now turned. Pembinaw and
other places were retaken; and his lordship succeeded
in inspiring his colonists with new hopes,
that were never to be realized. But as we have
no interest in the earl, or his plans, farther than
they are connected with our story, we will, for the
present, take leave of them.

When Mrs Gordon recovered from the shock

of her father's death, she urged her husband to
leave the country. One consideration only prevented
him from complying: he thirsted for vengeance
on M'Leod, and information arriving that
he had gone into the plains to hunt, gave him
an opportunity to effect his purpose. To all the
remonstrances of his wife, Gordon replied that
honor bound him to see that the murderer of his
friend did not escape from justice. He then requested
Lord Selkirk to invest him with the proper
authority, and to provide him a sufficient force.
His lordship answered that the criminal had with
him a band of ruffians, and that he could not, consistently
with the safety of the colony, give him
more than ten men. He said too, that M'Leod
and his satellite Reinhard were unworthy opponents
for a man of honor: but the bois brulé was
unmoved by these arguments. `If you will not
give me a man, my Lord,' said he, `I will go by
myself. I will watch him till I find him alone:
my friend Wawnahton taught me a lesson of that
kind. He is a villain, as you say, but I do not
therefore agree with you that he should be safe
from my hands: he can feel a shot or a stab, my
lord, as keenly as you or I. Yet I do not wish
to anticipate the hangman, and I will take him
alive if I can. Reinhard is a mere brute, as much
at the command of his master as the horse he
rides; but he is a dangerous brute, and must not
be suffered to go at large. My Lord, I am resolved:
will you give me the sanction of the law,
or shall I take it into my own hands?'

Finding him immoveable Lord Selkirk gave

him a warrant and ordered ten of the gens libres
to attend him. Indians enough could have been
hired, but the Earl thought it a dangerous precedent
to establish. With this escort then, and his
adherent Dés Champs, our hero set out.

12. CHAPTER XII.

Our hero approached the camp of M'Leod cautiously,
in the Indian manner, without suffering his
party to be seen. He picketed his horses in
a hollow three miles distant, where they might
graze out of sight, and at night sent spies into his
camp; but he only learned that Peter Pangman
was with his enemy, sick of an intermittent fever,
and that M'Leod had forty half-breeds with him.
In this manner four days passed, but on the fifth
night Dés Champs took upon himself the office of
spy, and penetrating farther than his predecessors

had done, brought back information, that on the
morrow, the hunters were to chase the buffalo, and
that M'Leod and Reinhard would be left alone in
their lodge. On the receipt of these tidings Gordon
despatched a man to raise the cattle, and drive
them so far as to insure the protracted absence
of the half-breeds the next day. This being effected,
he moved to within a mile of the enemy with
his men.

At daybreak the bois brulés saddled their horses
and rode off. M'Leod came out of his lodge to
witness their departure, and when they were gone
re-entered it, totally unsuspicious of danger. He
was first apprised of it by the entrance of Gordon
with five followers, into the lodge, whom he at first
mistook for some of his own people returned from
the hunt. He started, and asked what had brought
them back so soon.

`Rise,' said Gordon; `rise and come with us
where you must render an account of your life.'

Recognizing Gordon's voice, he started up, as
did Reinhard. `I see,' he said, `into what hands I
have fallen. But I did not kill Cavenny; no, you
cannot prove it, and the law cannot condemn me.
Are you come to murder me here?'

`No, miscreant; I am not. That were a deed
worthy of you; not of me. Yet if I should slay
you, who could blame me? There hangs a sword:
if you think yourself unfairly treated; draw it, and
come on. If you conquer me, I promise that you
shall go free.'

`And who would trust to such a promise? If

I should kill you, I should fall by the hands of your
men.'

Here Reinhard broke in. `Monsieur M'Leod,'
said he, `if you are inclined to surrender without
a struggle, so am not I. Let Gordon order his
men to retire, and I will trust his word. Come
sir, I see you wear a sword: let us forth, and we
shall see if you know how to use it.'

Gordon spoke to his men. `If I fall,' he said,
`let them go clear. Now, base assassin, come on.'

Reinhard met him boldly. He had expected
to overcome him easily, but Gordon was almost
his equal in skill, and his superior in activity.
Their blades crossed, and the young man attacked
his opponent fiercely. Reinhard defended himself
ably, but finding himself over-matched, he drew a
pistol from his belt and fired at Gordon's head.
He missed, and before the smoke cleared away,
he received a cut across his wrist, and his sword
dropped from his hand. Then he stood still and
sullen, expecting a mortal blow.

His expectations were near being fulfilled: Gordon's
men, who had watched the duel with intense
curiosity, now levelled their weapons, and would
have shot him, had not the bois brulé called to them
to forbear. `Wretch,' he cried, `I scarcely know
what hinders me from staking you to the earth.
Come, my men, bind up his wrist, and tie his elbows
behind him. Do the same for the brave
major. Dés Champs, go and bring Pangman, and
their horses hither.'

M'Leod submitted, in terror, and Reinhard doggedly,
without uttering a syllable. Pangman was

dragged from under a heap of buffalo robes, where
he had concealed himself, without respect to his
feeble condition or his expostulations. Dés
Champs tied his wrists so tight as to give him great
pain, for it must be confessed that the half-breed,
as well as others of his rank and condition, had
little regard for human suffering. When the
wretched invalid was brought before Gordon, the
youth loosened his bonds, and rebuked his follower
for his inhumanity.

`You are the master, Monsieur,' said Dés
Champs. `I hope I know my duty to my bourgeois,
but please to recollect, that if we had fallen
into their keeping, we should have had worse treatment.
If I were master, I would not have all this
trouble with them.'

`What would you do, then?' asked Gordon.

`Carry home their scalps at my horse's bridle,
and help myself to whatever I liked in the camp,'
answered Dés Champs.

But Gordon did not like the counsel. The prisoners
were mounted on their own horses, with
their ancles secured under the animals. If we
were to say that the party left the camp as poor as
they entered it, it would be more than would consist
with strict truth. He who could exchange an
old garment for a new one, did so without scruple.
Sundry knives, blankets, pistols, &c, were taken.
To all this Gordon offered no opposition, for he
knew that the free men might, like the Indians, be
led, but not driven. The spoilers left the camp in
high glee. One of them had decorated his person
with the gorgeous laced coat and epaulettes of

M'Leod; another wore his cap and feather, a
third had girt on his sword. Reinhard's apparel
was disposed of in a similar manner, and the wearers
of these equipments were looked upon with
envy by their less fortunate companions. A great
deal of the baggage of the camp, that could not be
conveniently carried away was wantonly destroyed.

It is unnecessary to relate the incidents of their
return to Pembinaw.

And now, gentle reader, we believe that all the
incidents essential to our story have been recorded.
If thy patience is not already exhausted, we
bespeak thy favor in behalf of our

CONCLUSION.

A week after Gordon's return to Pembinaw, two
boats might be seen at the landing place of the
Company's fort, manned, and ready to descend the
river. An awning was erected on the hindmost,
and under it, on a pack of beaver skins, sat Flora
Gordon. Her husband and the Scottish Earl stood
on the shore, in the midst of the clerks of the Company.
At a little distance stood Dés Champs,
leaning on his gun, and looking sorrowfully at the
boats. The ceremony of leave-taking over, Gordon
turned to the half-breed, and desired him
to embark. He advanced, and touching his cap
respectfully, held out his hand to Gordon.

`What does this mean?' said the latter, `are
you not going with me?'

`No Monsieur. You will perhaps think me
childish, or a mere Indian, to change my mind, and
break my word thus. But I have slept, and considered
the matter better. You have offered me
a home, and a support; and if I were to follow you,
I should be no more obliged to suffer cold, heat,
nor hunger, and my scalp would be safe, forever.
But I was once in Montreal, and I know not how
it was, but I had no relish for soft beds, nor good
cheer. I sighed for my native prairies; and I
should again. No, Monsieur, I must keep to my
horse, my gun, and my dog sledge. Adieu! you
will not, I hope, forget Antoine Dés Champs. I am
thankful for your kindness. May God conduct
you.'

`But Dés Champs,' added Gordon, much affected,
`you can go with me to Montreal, and if
you do not choose to remain, you can return in the
autumn. Besides I have not yet rewarded you
for your services. Indeed your determination has
broken up all my plans.'

`I am sufficiently rewarded already. Nevertheless,
if Monsieur Gordon pleases to bestow his gun,
and his horse on me, I should not be sorry.'

`You shall have them, and everything else I
leave behind. Stay, let me write a note to Mr
M'Donald to that effect,' and taking out his tablets
he wrote accordingly.

Dés Champs, who was a total stranger to the
delicacy which would have made many white men
refuse such a gift, took the paper without scruple
or thanks, and thrust it under his belt. He advanced
to bid Flora farewell. He paid her his

awkward salutations with some appearance of feeling,
and disembarked. The boatmen began to be
impatient, and called to Gordon to hasten.

`Well Dés Champs,' said the young husband, `I
will no longer try to persuade you. Farewell;
may God bless you. I will write to the head of
the colony to provide you with stores every winter
at my expense. Once more farewell.'

`Adieu, Monsieur,' said Dés Champs, shaking
his hand, and raising his cap from his head. He
held it in this manner until Gordon had embarked
and the boat was out of sight. He then replaced
it and turned away.

On the arrival of the party at Montreal, M'Leod
and his instruments were arraigned for the murder
of Cavenny, and of Governor Semple and his people,
in due course of law. The inhabitants of that
city still remember how bitter was the contention
of the two rival fur companies on that occasion,
and what efforts were made, and what means resorted
to, on the one side to produce, and on the
other to suppress the evidence. The Northwest
succeeded in procuring the acquittal of M'Leod
and Pangman. Reinhard admitted the part he
had taken in the murder of the Irishman, but informed
the jury, that he had stabbed Cavenny, after
he was shot by the Indian, Joe, `to put an end
to his sufferings.' Notwithstanding this humane
motive, he was found guilty of manslaughter, and
sentenced to be transported, for fourteen years.
What has become of him, or whether he is now
alive or dead, is not known.

M'Leod having refused a challenge from Gordon,

found that Montreal was no place for him,
and returned to the Indian country. The last we
heard of him, he was trading with the Chyppewans
at Great Slave Lake. Pangman returned to Pembinaw,
where he is hunting the buffalo to this day.

Shortly after these occurrences, Gordon, by the
command of his father, crossed the Atlantic. It is
said that he now resides on the banks of the Esk
with his wife, and has a large family of sons and
daughters. Before he went, however, he fulfilled
his promise to Dés Champs. But that person did
not long live to be a tax on his bounty. In the
spring of eighteen hundred and twentyone he found
his death on the horns of a buffalo.

The two companies soon after discovered that
strife and opposition were to the advantage of neither.
They united; whereby a great number of persons
were thrown out of employment, and the number
of free men was greatly increased. Some of their
clerks came into the United States, and formed
the Columbian Fur Company, which after three
years opposition amalgamated with the North American
Fur Company.

Lord Selkirk returned to Scotland, and his colony
died a natural death. The processions, and
anathemas fulminated by the Catholic priest, availed
nothing against the grasshoppers or the spring
floods, and the settlers saw their crops destroyed,
year after year. At last they became convinced
that the country was uninhabitable, and concluded
to emigrate to the United States, believing
it better to risk themselves among the Bostonois
than to starve at Ossinneboia. In eighteen hundred

and twentyfive, not thirty of the Swiss emigrants
remained at the colony. Many of them
settled at Vevay, on the Ohio, where they are
now cultivating the grape.

In the year eighteen hundred and twentyfour, a
party of American troops arrived at Pembinaw, under
the command of Major S. Long. Having
ascertained that the boundary line passed through
the village, the American flag was hoisted, amidst
the acclamations of an hundred Canadians and
half-breeds; not one of whom knew for what he
shouted. The village then consisted of about
twenty log huts, and a church, built of hewn timber.
At present it does not exist.