Part 16 (1/2)
”'Through the wild woods we'll wander, And we'll chase the buffalo --And we'll chase the buffalo.'
”What a pity I have forgotten the rest of that dear old song. I used to listen with open ears to it when I was a boy. I never thought to hear it again, and to hear it here of all places in the world!”
”Come, let us go on with our work,” said Hector, with something like impatience in his voice, and the strokes of his axe fell once more in regular succession on the log; but Louis's eye was still on the mysterious fisher, whom he could discern lounging on the gra.s.s and smoking his pipe. ”I do not think he sees or hears us,” said Louis to himself, ”but I think I'll manage to bring him over soon;” and he set himself busily to work to sc.r.a.pe up the loose chips and shavings, and soon began to strike fire with his knife and flint.
”What are you about, Louis?” asked Hector.
”Lighting a fire.”
”It is warm enough without a fire, I am sure.”
”I know that; but I want to attract the notice of yonder tiresome fisherman.”
”And perhaps bring a swarm of savages down upon us, who may be lurking in the bushes of the island.”
”Pooh, pooh! Hec; there are no savages. I am weary of this place--anything is better than this horrible solitude.” And Louis fanned the flame into a rapid blaze, and heaped up the light dry branches till it soared up among the bushes. Louis watched the effect of his fire, and rubbed his hands gleefully as the bark canoe was pushed off from the island, and a few vigorous strokes of the paddle sent it dancing over the surface of the calm lake.
Louis waved his cap above his head with a cheer of welcome as the vessel lightly glided into the little cove, near the spot where the boys were chopping, and a stout-framed, weather-beaten man, in a blanket coat, also faded and weather-beaten, with a red worsted sash and worn moccasins, sprang upon one of the timbers of Louis's old raft, and gazed with a keen eye upon the lads. Each party silently regarded the other. A few rapid interrogations from the stranger, uttered in the broad _patois_ of the Lower Province, were answered in a mixture of broken French and English by Louis.
A change like lightning pa.s.sed over the face of the old man as he cried out--”Louis Perron, son of my ancient compagnon!”
”Oui! oui!”--with eyes sparkling through tears of joy, Louis threw himself into the broad breast of Jacob Morelle, his father's friend and old lumbering comrade.
”Hector, son of la belle Catharine Perron!” and Hector, in his turn, received the affectionate embrace of the warm-hearted old man.
”Who would have thought of meeting with the children of my old comrade here at the sh.o.r.e of the Rice Lake? Oh! what a joyful meeting!”
Jacob had a hundred questions to ask--Where were their parents? did they live on the Plains now? how long was it since they had left the Cold Springs? were there any more little ones? and so forth.
The boys looked sorrowfully at each other. At last the old man stopped for want of breath, and remarked their sad looks.
Hector told the old lumberer how long they had been separated from their families, and by what sad accident they had been deprived of the society of their beloved sister. When they brought their narrative down to the disappearance of Catharine, the whole soul of the old trapper seemed moved; he started from the log on which they were sitting, and with one of his national a.s.severations, declared ”that he, her father's old friend, would go up the river and bring her back in safety, or leave his gray scalp behind him among the wigwams.”
”It is too late, Jacob, to think of starting to-day,” said Hector.
”Come home with us, and eat some food, and rest a bit.”
”No need of that, my son I have a lot of fish here in the canoe; and there is an old shanty on the island yonder, if it be still standing--the Trapper's Fort I used to call it some years ago. We will go off to the island and look for it.”
”No need for that,” replied Louis, ”though I can tell you the old place is still in good repair, for we used it this very spring as a boiling-house for our maple sap. We have a better place of our own nearer at hand--just two or three hundred yards over the brow of yonder hill. So come with us, and you shall have a good supper, and bed to lie upon.”
”And you have all these, boys!” said Jacob opening his merry black eyes, as they came in sight of the little log-house and the field of green corn.
The old man praised the boys for their industry and energy. ”Ha! here is old Wolfe too,” as the dog roused himself from the hearth, and gave one of his low grumbling growls. He had grown dull and dreamy, and instead of going out as usual with the young hunters, he would lie for hours dozing before the dying embers of the fire. He pined for the loving hand that used to pat his sides, caress his s.h.a.ggy neck, and pillow his great head upon her lap, or suffer him to put his huge paws on her shoulders, while he licked her hands and face; but she was gone, and the Indian girl was gone, and the light of the shanty had gone with them. Old Wolfe seemed dying of sorrow.
That evening, as Jacob sat on the three-legged stool smoking his short Indian pipe, he again would have the whole story of their wanderings over, and the history of all their doings and contrivances.
”And how far do you think you are from the Cold Springs?”
”At least twenty miles, perhaps fifty; for it is a long, long time now since we left home--three summers ago.”
”Well, boys, you must not reckon distance by the time you have been absent,” said the old man. ”Now, I know the distance through the woods, for I have pa.s.sed through them on the Indian trail, and by my reckoning, as the bee flies, it cannot be more than seven or eight miles--no, nor that either.”