Part 27 (1/2)
”Well, Drake,” said Bevan, after the first greetings were over, ”all right at the camp down there?”
”All well,” he replied, ”and the Leaping Buck quite recovered.”
He cast a quiet glance at the Indian chief as he spoke, for the Leaping Buck was Unaco's little son, who had been ailing when his father left his village a few weeks before.
”No sign o' gold-seekers yet?” asked Paul.
”None--'cept one lot that ranged about the hills for a few days, but they seemed to know nothin'. Sartinly they found nothin', an' went away disgusted.”
The trapper indulged in a quiet chuckle as he said this.
”What are ye larfin' at?” asked Paul.
”At the gold-seekers,” replied Drake.
”What was the matter wi' 'em,” asked Tolly.
”Not much, lad, only they was blind, and also ill of a strong appet.i.te.”
”Ye was always fond o' speakin' in riddles,” said Paul. ”What d'ye mean, Mahoghany!”
”I mean that though there ain't much gold in these hills, maybe, what little there is the seekers couldn't see, though they was walkin' over it, an' they was so blind they couldn't hit what they fired at, so their appet.i.tes was stronger than was comfortable. I do believe they'd have starved if I hadn't killed a buck for them.”
During this conversation Paddy Flinders had been listening attentively and in silence. He now sidled up to Tom Brixton, who, although bestriding Tolly's pony, seemed ill able to travel.
”D'ye hear what the trapper says, Muster Brixton?”
”Yes, Paddy, what then?”
”Och! I only thought to cheer you up a bit by p'intin' out that he says there's goold hereabouts.”
”I'm glad for your sake and Fred's,” returned Tom, with a faint smile, ”but it matters little to me; I feel that my days are numbered.”
”Ah then, sor, don't spake like that,” returned Flinders, with a woebegone expression on his countenance. ”Sure, it's in the dumps ye are, an' no occasion for that same. Isn't Miss--”
The Irishman paused. He had it in his heart to say, ”Isn't Miss Betty smilin' on ye like one o'clock?” but, never yet having ventured even a hint on that subject to Tom, an innate feeling of delicacy restrained him. As the chief who led the party gave the signal to move on at that moment it was unnecessary for him to finish the sentence.
The Indian village, which was merely a cl.u.s.ter of tents made of deerskins stretched on poles, was now plainly visible from the commanding ridge along which the party travelled. It occupied a piece of green level land on the margin of the lake before referred to, and, with its background of crag and woodland and its distance of jagged purple hills, formed as lovely a prospect as the eye of man could dwell upon.
The distance of the party from it rendered every sound that floated towards them soft and musical. Even the barking of the dogs and the shouting of the little Redskins at play came up to them in a mellow, almost peaceful, tone. To the right of the village lay a swamp, from out of which arose the sweet and plaintive cries of innumerable gulls, plovers, and other wild-fowl, mingled with the trumpeting of geese and the quacking of ducks, many of which were flying to and fro over the gla.s.sy lake, while others were indulging in aquatic gambols among the reeds and sedges.
After they had descended the hill-side by a zigzag path, and reached the plain below, they obtained a nearer view of the eminently joyful scene, the sound of the wild-fowl became more shrill, and the laughter of the children more boisterous. A number of the latter who had observed the approaching party were seen hurrying towards them with eager haste, led by a little lad, who bounded and leaped as if wild with excitement.
This was Unaco's little son, Leaping Buck, who had recognised the well-known figure of his sire a long way off, and ran to meet him.
On reaching him the boy sprang like an antelope into his father's arms and seized him round the neck, while others crowded round the gaunt trapper and grasped his hands and legs affectionately. A few of the older boys and girls stood still somewhat shyly, and gazed in silence at the strangers, especially at Betty, whom they evidently regarded as a superior order of being--perhaps an angel--in which opinion they were undoubtedly backed by Tom Buxton.
After embracing his father, Leaping Buck recognised Paul Bevan as the man who had been so kind to him and his brother Oswego at the time when the latter got his death-fall over the precipice. With a shout of joyful surprise he ran to him, and, we need scarcely add, was warmly received by the kindly backwoodsman.
”I cannot help thinking,” remarked Betty to Tom, as they gazed on the pleasant meeting, ”that G.o.d must have some way of revealing the Spirit of Jesus to these Indians that we Christians know not of.”