Part 45 (1/2)

Yes, tobogganing is great fun. It was the beavers, by the way, who first taught the Indians of the Rocky Mountains the game. Then the Indians taught the whites; and I think it is far from fair not to erect a monument to the beaver in some public thoroughfare in Montreal or New York.

Peter and I, with the a.s.sistance of others, established a kind of circus. This was also great fun. The feats of horsemans.h.i.+p performed in our circle before the log-hut doors, I have never seen surpa.s.sed at any hippodrome at home or in Paris.

We had old men riders, bare-back, standing and sitting.

We had young boy riders.

We had girl riders. We had _infant_ riders.

We had la.s.so performances and bolas play. Before the winter drew to a close, I verily believe that our company was good enough to make our fortune in any large city of Europe.

Peter once undertook to ride a Pampas pony, or rather a dwarf horse.

”It seems simple,” said Peter, ”and I won't have far to fall.”

Well, if Peter had studied for a month how best to amuse these Indians, he could not have fallen upon a better plan. ”Fallen” did I say? Yes; and it seemed all falling, for Peter was no sooner on than he was off again; and the variety of different methods that pony adopted in spilling him proved it to be a little horse of the rarest versatility.

No wonder Nadi clapped her hands as she shouted with laughter, crying--

”O, O, Angleese! Angleese!” Had this been an intentional display of Peter's powers, it really would have been exceedingly clever; but tumbling off a horse came natural to Peter, so that instead of trying to fall off in a great many different ways, as the Indians all thought he was, he was all the while doing his very best to keep on top, as he called it.

Peter's performance brought _down_ the house, but it brought _up_ his b.u.mps again.

If tobogganing, hunting in the plains and forest, and fis.h.i.+ng in the rivers, with circus riding, were our outdoor games, at night innocent games of cards, story-telling, singing, and dancing, helped to pa.s.s away the time till ten o'clock, after which all was silence in and around the camp and huts, except the doleful chant of the sentries.

The Indians by day, however, were certainly not always playing. They were often enough busy manufacturing various articles from silver, iron, copper, and wood, to say nothing of pipes. All these would barter well when spring came round and they met once more the white men of Santa Cruz, or even of Sandy Point itself. All this was men's work; meanwhile the women were busy sewing skins.

Peter had already been presented with his little skunk-skin poncho or capa, and very proud he was thereof.

”Aren't you fellows jealous!” he said, as he went marching up and down to show it off. ”Just wait till _you_ get a little poncho; there will be no holding you for pride.”

So one way or another the winter wore away far more quickly than would be imagined. Of course, Jill and I often thought of home and mother and Mattie. Sometimes our hearts would give an uneasy thud, as we remembered how long a time it was since we had seen them, or even heard from them.

What if our darling mother were dead! This would indeed be the greatest grief that could befall us. We could only hope for the best, and pray.

Every Sunday all through the winter we had reading and prayers in the log hut. Jeeka and his wife were constant in their attendance, and if Nadi did not understand all that was said, let us hope she learned enough for her soul's salvation.

Grief had not yet visited our little settlement, but, alas! it was to come.

August was nearly at a close, and we were beginning to look forward to the coming of spring, when a more bitter snowstorm came on than any we had yet known. The snow was not so very deep, but the wind was very high and keen.

Early on the second morning of the second day of the storm, Nadi came running to our log-house, and, wringing her hands as if in terrible grief, asked for Peter.

”Nadi, what is it?” cried Peter, in great concern to see her tears.

”What has happened?”

Nadi spoke English now. That showed how great and real was her anguish.

”Oh, come, come!” she cried; ”come you, quick, plenty quick. De leetle coqueet, he die. Oh, come!”

Peter never stayed even to put his cap on, but hurried away through the snow with Nadi towards the Indian toldos.