Part 11 (1/2)
CHAPTER NINE.
A BRIGHT APPARITION--FOLLOWED BY RUMOURS OF WAR.
While we were thus feasting and chatting on the green sward of the region which seemed destined to be our future home, an object suddenly appeared among the bushes, near the edge of the circle of light cast by our camp-fire.
This object was by no means a frightful one, yet it caused a sensation in the camp which could hardly have been intensified if we had suddenly discovered a buffalo with the nose of an elephant and the tail of a rattlesnake. For one moment we were all struck dumb; then we all sprang to our feet, but we did not seize our firearms--oh no!--for there, half concealed by the bushes, and gazing at us in timid wonder, stood a pretty young girl, with a skin much fairer than usually falls to the lot of Indian women, and with light brown hair as well as bright blue eyes.
In all other respects--in costume, and humble bearing--she resembled the women of the soil.
I would not willingly inflict on the reader too much of my private feelings and opinions, but perhaps I may be excused for saying that I fell over head and ears in love with this creature at once! I make no apology for being thus candid. On the contrary, I am prepared rather to plume myself on the quick perception which enabled me not only to observe the beauty of the girl's countenance, but, what is of far more importance, the inherent goodness which welled from her loving eyes.
Yes, reader, call me an a.s.s if you will, but I unblus.h.i.+ngly repeat that I fell--tumbled--plunged headlong in love with her. So did every other man in the camp! There is this to be said in excuse for us, that we had not seen any members of the fair s.e.x for many months, and that the sight of this brilliant specimen naturally aroused many pleasant recollections of cousins, sisters, nieces, aunts, mothers, grandmothers--well, perhaps I am going too far; though, after all, the tender, loving-kindness in this girl's eyes might well have suggested grandmothers!
Before any of us could recover the use of our limbs, Big Otter had glided rapidly towards the girl. Grasping her by the hand, he led her towards Lumley, and introduced her as his sister's daughter, Waboose.
The red-man was evidently proud as well as fond of his fair niece, and equally clear did it become in a short time that the girl was as fond and proud of him.
”Your relative is very fair,” said Lumley. ”She might almost have been the daughter of a white man.”
”She _is_ the daughter of a white man.”
”Indeed!”
”Yes; her father was a white hunter who left his people and came to dwell with us and married my sister. He was much loved and respected by us. He lived and hunted and went on the war-path with us for many years--then he was killed.”
”In war?” I asked, beginning to feel sympathetic regard for the father of one who had stirred my heart to--but, I forget. It is not my intention to bore the reader with my personal feelings.
”No,” answered the Indian. ”He perished in attempting to save his wife from a dangerous rapid. He brought her to the bank close to the head of a great waterfall, and many hands were stretched out to grasp her. She was saved, but the strength of the brave pale-face was gone, and we knew it not. Before we could lay hold of his hand the current swept him away and carried him over the falls.”
”How sad!” said Lumley. ”What was the name of this white man?”
”He told us that his name was Weeum--but,” said the Indian, turning abruptly to Waboose, whose countenance betrayed feelings which were obviously aroused by other matters than this reference to her lost father, ”my child has news of some sort. Let her speak.”
Thus permitted, Waboose opened her lips for the first time--disclosing a double row of bright little teeth in the act--and said that she had been sent by her mother in search of Maqua and his son, as she had reason to believe that the camp was in danger of being attacked by Dogrib Indians.
On hearing this, Maqua and Mozwa rose, picked up their weapons, and without a word of explanation entered the bushes swiftly and disappeared.
Big Otter looked after them for a moment or two in grave silence.
”You had better follow them,” suggested Lumley. ”If you should require help, send a swift messenger back and we will come to you.”
The Indian received this with a quiet inclination of the head, but made no reply. Then, taking his niece by the hand, he led her into the bushes where his relatives had entered and, like them, disappeared.
”It seems like a dream,” said I to Lumley, as we all sat down again to our steaks and marrow-bones.
”What seems like a dream, Max--the grub?”
”No, the girl.”
”Truly, yes. And a very pleasant dream too. Almost as good as this bone.”
”Oh! you unsentimental, unsympathetic monster. Does not the sight of a pretty young creature like that remind you of home, and all the sweet refining influences shed around it by woman?”