THEY MAKE AN ACQUAINTANCE.
That part of the valley towards which they were going had undergone no change. The squatters had had no time to visit it, and it retained all its original beauty and primitive majesty. George Clinton appeared fully to know his way, entering at full gallop on the most out-of-the-way and rugged paths, followed by Samuel Dickson, who was in a charming humour, and appeared delighted to explore this part of his domains, for all on that side of the valley was his present from his brother.
"You ride as if you had known the country ten years at least," he said.
"I came here about a month before you, but I have been everywhere with Charbonneau."
"Who may Charbonneau be?"
"My hunter, a great big Canadian, as long as a fishing rod, as thin as a nail, and as honest as a Newfoundland dog. I got him out of a very great scrape, and he has been devoted to me ever since."
"Lucky for you."
"More than you think. This fellow was brought up in an Indian tribe; his life has been spent more or less in the desert. He has friends everywhere with trappers, with white and half-caste hunters; speaks all the most difficult redskin dialects, and despite his youth—he is not more than three-and-twenty—enjoys a great reputation on the prairie. He is called Keen-hand, because of his prodigious dexterity."
"An excellent servant," said Samuel.
"And a capital companion—always gay and contented; whichever way things go, he is always so philosophical I cannot but admire him. He is a perfect study. As an instance, he declared some time ago no squatter would ever see this place and go further."
"He was not far wrong. He is a sharp youth."
"You are right; but you shall judge for yourself."
"Then he has told you all about this country?" asked Samuel.
"In what way?" said George.
"I suppose he described the situation of the valley—its distance from all habitations?"
"Don't you know?" cried George.
"I know nothing. We have been travelling in the dark, and should all be glad of information."
"In the first place, two rivers cross the valley; that near you flows from the mountains of the Wind; the other, into which it discharges its waters, is the Missouri."
"Heavens! The Missouri! Then it runs through part of the United States. We are at home."
"Very nearly, though you are surrounded by red men, who, though very warlike, are generally friendly to the whites. Still, if you know the redskins you will not depend on them."
"Too true; and what nations are they?" he asked.
"Sioux and Dakotas, Piekanns, Crows, Hurons of the great lakes, with some Assiniboins and Mandans. A few others of no account are scattered about," he answered.
"A pretty lot; and no help near."
"Help is nearer than you think. About fifty miles distant is a fort belonging to one of the great fur companies. It has a garrison of fifty whites—Americans and Canadians, soldiers and hunters."
"Fifty miles is nothing," said Samuel.
"In a civilised country, yes; but in the desert it is as bad as fifty leagues," responded Clinton.
"I did not think of that," granted the squatter; "well, then, on the other side, what neighbours have we?"
"Some squatters, like yourselves, who have been two years on the Missouri. You are halfway between the two."
"Have these squatters much cultivated land?"
"They have been going ahead lately. It is already almost a village; soon it will be a town. But anyway, on one side or the other you are separated from men of your own colour by several Indian nations, whose villages it would be dangerous to visit, except in large numbers. In fact your only open route is the Missouri."
"That is something; but, if easy to go down, it is hard to ascend."
"Besides, both sides swarm with redskins."
"Hum! My dear George, that spoils all. What could put it into the mad head of my brother to bring us here? He is a lunatic; for the matter of that, so am I."
George could not help laughing.
"Laugh away, you young rascal," said the squatter; "but if we have to leave our bones here?"
"I hope it will not be so," replied George.
"Jehoshaphat! So do I. Your information is not pleasant; still I thank you. It is best to know the worst."
While speaking they kept on at as rapid a pace as the state of the ground allowed. They had left the forest, and had come out upon a green prairie, when suddenly they heard a gun fired.
"What is that?" cried the squatter.
"Charbonneau. I know the sound. Wait a minute."
And Clinton fired his rifle in the air.
Next instant there was a rush from out of a thicket, and two magnificent dogs of the same breed as Dardar came rushing out of a thicket, and, leaping at the young man to beg a caress, continued at the same time to growl at the squatter.
"Down, dogs, down!" cried the young man. "Down, I say, Nadeje, miss, and you the same, Drack; don't be mischievous. This gentleman, my fine fellows, is a friend; go and welcome him, to show what brave and intelligent beasts you are."
As if they had understood what their master said, the two dogs ceased to growl, and, going straight to Samuel Dickson, leaped up at him in the most friendly way. The squatter, a great dog fancier, was very much struck by their beauty, and at once caressed them with many a word of praise, which pleased both, but especially Miss Nadeje; she was a magnificent animal, with an almost pure white skin, spotted only here and there with black, and at once took the squatter under her guardianship.
Almost at the same moment a man appeared in the full costume of a hunter, a man with rather angular but very intelligent features; in his hand was the still-smoking gun. He bowed, and called off the dogs.
"Pardieu!" he cried, "That was a lucky shot of mine."
"Were you hunting?" asked the other, shaking hands.
"At this hour it were folly, and I am not yet mad. Sport is only good morning and evening, is it not?"
"That is my opinion," replied the squatter.
"Mr. Samuel Dickson, one of my best friends," said George, "and I hope soon one of yours."
"I hope so; I like his looks," laughed Charbonneau.
"Thank you," said the squatter.
"It is quite unnecessary, only I don't say the same to everybody. But I have known you some time."
"If not hunting, what were you doing?" asked George.
"Something has happened at the wigwam. Three travellers, two white hunters and an Indian chief, have reached your house, and demanded hospitality," he replied.
"Of course you did not refuse?"
"Of course I did not. Besides, two of the hunters are my friends, and the other is likely to become so."
"You know you are welcome to act; still, why look for me?"
"Well, I did not exactly look for you, but I wanted to give you warning; of course, I knew where you had gone."
The young man blushed, while the old man laughed.
"Now, then," cried Clinton, "let us go home."
"Wait one moment. About fifty yards in my rear the dogs opened cry. I ran and found—"
"A bear?" exclaimed the squatter.
"No, I would not have minded that. It was not a bear, but a man. He was lying insensible on the ground, his skull split open from a heavy fall, and a shot wound in his left arm. His horse was grazing close by. He appeared to be a traveller traitorously shot by an Indian. I thought I heard an explosion; at all events, the wretch fled before the dogs, just as he was about to rob the unfortunate."
"You assisted him?"
"How could I help it? I could not let him die like a skunk on the road; and yet it would have been wiser."
"Charbonneau!" cried the young man, "Is that really you?"
"You know me well, Master George. Well, despite myself, I don't like the look of this man, though he is handsome enough. He has a terrible expression, and you know it takes something to move me. Still, I feel an invincible repugnance for this man, whom I never saw before. The dogs were like myself; I had the greatest difficulty to prevent them tearing him to pieces. Nadeje was like a mad creature; she wanted to strangle him. Do you know, Master George, dogs never make a mistake?"
"A very good thing," said George Clinton; "but the man is wounded, likely to die. We are bound to succour him."
"I know it, and have done so. I have seen to him as I would to myself or one of my dogs. Still, Master George, mark my words, it is a bitter foe you shelter under your roof."
"It may be so, but we must do our duty."
"As you please. Still I shall watch him."
"Where is he?"
"Just under yonder cluster of oaks, which you see from here. It was after dressing his wound I fired a shot on chance."
"Did he say nothing?" asked George.
"He is still quite insensible."
"Let us join him, and if the dogs are so ill-disposed towards the stranger, watch them carefully."
"All right, Master George. Be quiet, dogs," said the hunter, turning back, followed by the two great dogs, the others making up the rear.
The cluster of oaks was soon reached; the wounded man still lay without life; the dogs howled, but, at a sign from Keen-hand, they stood back silent.
George and Samuel alighted, and examined the man.
He was a tall, well made, even elegant man of about thirty or thirty-five; he was deadly pale; his features were well chiselled and delicate; his long, jet black hair fell in waving curls on his shoulders; a black crisp beard hid the lower part of his face; his mouth, large and slightly open, showed magnificent teeth of dazzling whiteness; his strong and aquiline nose gave a terribly hard expression to his face, while his eyes, far too close together, and which were shut, were shaded by long lashes, and crowned by heavy eyebrows that almost touched.
The very sight of the man inspired instinctive repulsion, something like a chill, that sensation of terror and disgust which one feels at the sight of a reptile; still the man was handsome and elegant; he was well dressed, and his weapons were superior; his horse was extremely valuable.
He was, to all appearance, a prince among adventurers.
"Hum!" muttered Samuel Dickson, who was the first to speak; "I don't like his look at all."
"No more do I," said George; "still, we cannot let him die."
"Certainly not, since Providence has sent him here. Are we far from your hut?" replied Samuel.
"Not far off, are we, Charbonneau? But, then, how can we carry him?" continued George; "I don't see anything except a litter."
"Too long. Leave all to me. I will mount his horse; you can hand him up to me; I will then carry him in my arms to the wigwam—what say you?"
"Admirable!" cried George, as Charbonneau mounted and stood still, awaiting his burden.
George and Samuel then placed him before the guide. Charbonneau pressed his head against his chest, and started.
Going slowly, they were an hour on the journey.
The wigwam, as the hunter called it, was a charming habitation built of wood, upon the summit of an eminence, round which ran a silver stream, lined with well-constructed palisades.
"Your house is delicious," said Samuel Dickson, examining the residence. "You should be very comfortable."
"My good friend, I want for nothing except happiness."
"Are you going to have the blues again?" said Samuel.
"You know I hardly dare hope," replied George.
"You are very foolish. When you are rich, young, and loved, Master George, you ought to hope for the best."
"You are very cruel to joke with me."
"I do not joke, I only try to inspire you with courage. But, look, here are your guests coming to meet you, while your servants seem to me to be rather muddled and mixed," observed Samuel.
"It is the first time they have ever seen strangers."
"Then," said Samuel, laughing, "they will have a change today."
Three persons were advancing in the direction of the advancing troop. They were Bright-eye, Numank-Charake, the Huron chief, and Oliver.
They bowed ceremoniously to Clinton, who renewed the invitation given by Charbonneau; and then alighting, the wounded man was carried by Bright-eye and Oliver to the best bedroom, placed on the master's own couch, and at once attended to by one of the domestics, who knew something of medicine.
"What a disagreeable face!" murmured Oliver.
"He does not look pleasant," said Bright-eye.
"'Tis the face of a traitor," said the Indian chief, sententiously; "he should have been allowed to die."
"Hum!" cried Keen-hand; "There are others of my opinion."
"Let my brother watch carefully," remarked the Indian.
"Be not uneasy," smiled Charbonneau.
"In my opinion," said Bright-eye, "this man is one of the outlaws of the desert. I have seen him somewhere before. I must not only think over the matter, but put the master of the house on his guard."
Meanwhile the four men rejoined Clinton and Samuel Dickson in the drawing room, where copious refreshments awaited them.