Part 19 (2/2)
”We've had a brush wi' the redskins, sir, an' we had to kill one or two in self-defence.”
McLeod's brow darkened. He clenched his teeth, and the large veins swelled in his neck and forehead. With a powerful effort he repressed his anger, and said--
”Did I not warn you to avoid that if you could?”
”True, sir,” replied Davis humbly; ”but we could not help it, for, in the first heat of pa.s.sion, one o' them was shot, an' after that, of course, we had to fight to save our own scalps.”
”Who fired that first shot?” inquired McLeod sternly.
Davis made no reply, but all eyes were at once turned upon a tall slouching man, with a forbidding cast of countenance, who had hitherto kept in the background.
”So, so, Larocque,” said McLeod, stepping up to the man, ”you've been at your b.l.o.o.d.y work again, you scoundrel. Hah! you not only bring the enmity of the whole Indian race down on your own worthless head, and on the heads of your innocent companions, but you have the effrontery to bring the evidence of your guilt into this fort along with you.”
As McLeod spoke, he laid hold of a scalp which still dropped fresh blood as it hung at the hunter's saddle-bow.
”If I'm to answer to you for every scalp I choose to lift in self-defence, the sooner I quit you the better,” answered Larocque sulkily.
”Was there any occasion to lift this scalp at all?” demanded McLeod, as he seized the man by the collar.
”Who talks of lifting scalps?” growled a loud, deep-toned voice.
All eyes were instantly turned on the speaker, and the crowd fell back to permit Mr Macgregor, the person in command of the Mountain Fort, to approach the scene of action.
The man who now appeared on the scene was a sad and a terrible sight to behold. He was one of that wretched cla.s.s of human beings who, having run a long course of unbridled wickedness, become total wrecks in body and mind long before the prime of manhood has been pa.s.sed. Macgregor had been a confirmed drunkard for many years. He had long lost all power of self-control, and had now reached that last fearful stage when occasional fits of _delirium tremens_ rendered him more like a wild beast than a man. Being a large and powerful man, and naturally pa.s.sionate, he was at these times a terror to all who came near him. He had been many years in charge of the fur-trading establishment, and having on many occasions maltreated the Indians, he was hated by them most cordially.
One of his mad fits had been on him for some days before the arrival of March Marston and his friends. He had recovered sufficiently to be able to stagger out of his room just at the time the buffalo hunters, as above described, entered the square of the fort. As he strode forward, with nothing on but his s.h.i.+rt and trousers, his eyes bloodshot, his hair matted and dishevelled, and his countenance haggard in the extreme, he was the most pitiable, and, at the same time, most terrible specimen of human degradation that the mind of man could conceive of.
”What now! who has been lifting scalps?” he growled between his set teeth, striding up to Larocque, and glaring in his face, with his bloodshot eyes, like a tiger.
McLeod held up the b.l.o.o.d.y scalp.
”Who did it?” roared Macgregor.
”I did,” said Larocque with an attempt at a defiant air.
The words had barely pa.s.sed his lips when he received a blow between the eyes that felled him to the earth. He attempted to rise, but, with a yell that sounded more like the war-cry of a savage than the wrathful shout of a civilised man, Macgregor knocked him down again, and, springing at his throat, began to strangle him.
Up to this point, McLeod refrained from interfering, for he was not sorry to see the murderer receive such severe punishment; but, having no desire to witness a second murder, he now seized his master, and, with the a.s.sistance of two of the men, succeeded in tearing him off from Larocque, and in conveying him, as respectfully as possible in the circ.u.mstances, to his private chamber.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
AN ARGUMENT ON ARGUMENTATION--ALSO ON RELIGION--BOUNCE ”FEELOSOPHICAL”
AGAIN--A RACE CUT SHORT BY A BULLET--FLIGHT AND PURSUIT OF THE REDSKINS.
When McLeod returned to the square, he found that the trappers had adjourned with the men of the establishment to enjoy a social pipe together, and that Theodore Bertram was taking a solitary, meditative promenade in front of the gate of the fort.
”You seem in a pensive mood, Mr Bertram,” said the fur trader on coming up, ”will you not try the soothing effects of a pipe? Our tobacco is good; I can recommend it.”
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