In the Hands of the Malays, and Other Stories

by G. A. Henty

A TALE OF THE BACKWOOD SETTLEMENTS

A girl of fifteen, slim and lithe in figure—although it would scarcely have suggested itself to a casual observer, so disfigured was it by the thick, homespun garment in which she was clothed—stood looking out from the door of a log cabin over the lake which lay a hundred yards away. Her face would have been almost childish had it not been for a certain alertness of expression and keenness of glance which would never have been seen in the face of a town-bred girl, nor in one brought up in a country where the only danger ever to be encountered was in crossing a meadow in which a bull was grazing. Mary Mitford was the only child of the settler who owned the cabin. He had at one time been a well-to-do farmer, but he had fallen into difficulties and been obliged to give up his farm and travel farther west, where land could be had for the taking up.

The times had been peaceful, and although the spot he had fixed upon was ten miles from the nearest village, that did not deter him from settling there. It was a natural clearing of some twenty acres in extent. The land was fertile, and sloped gradually down to the lake. A clear spring rose close to the spot where he had determined to make his house, and as to Indian troubles he shrugged his shoulders and said: "If the Indians break out I shall only have to shut up my cabin and move into the village; but as there is no house nearer than that, no tracks in the forest leading past my place, and nothing worth stealing, it is hardly likely that the red-skins will come my way. They are more likely to attack the village than they are to visit my shanty."

He had now lived on his little farm for four years, and had had no reason to regret his choice. The cabin originally built had been enlarged. He had a horse to do his ploughing, and some ten acres under tillage; a score of half-wild pigs roamed by day in the forest, picking up their living there, and returning of their own accord to their sties in the evening for their one regular meal. Five or six cows and a score of sheep grazed on the untilled ground; geese and ducks waddled down to the lake at daybreak and returned at nightfall; two or three dozen chickens found plenty of grubs and worms to eat between the rows of corn and vegetables on the tilled ground. Altogether John Mitford was doing well. He went down once a week with ducks, geese, fowls, and vegetables to the village, using a large boat, on which he had built a sort of cabin where he often passed the night on the lake, returning home to breakfast with a goodly store of wild duck he had shot, and sometimes a stag which he had overtaken as it swam across the lake.

So well had he done, indeed, that he had settled to take on three or four hired men to extend the clearing by cutting down and grubbing up the forest. He had been ably assisted by his wife, who not only looked after the house, but assisted on the farm at busy times; while Mary, who was but nine years old when they came there, made herself as useful as she could at light work, fed the animals, cooked when her mother was in the fields, and as she grew older spent a good deal of her time in a small birch-bark canoe her father had bought for her in the village. She added a good deal to the family store by fishing; not only was the house well supplied, but she enabled her father to take a large basketful down when he went to the village, where the people were all too busy to fish for themselves.

She also learned to use her father's rifle with a skill equal to his own, and could hit any duck that came within range of the weapon. From time to time there were rumours of trouble with the Indians; but these either proved to be without foundation, or the troubles took place at distant spots on the border. Sometimes Mary's mother accompanied her father to the village when stores had to be laid in, and materials for garments purchased for which their own homespun cloth was unsuitable. They had started together this morning, and the three men who had been engaged were to return with them. These were to be accommodated in an outhouse until they had built a log cabin for themselves, and a store of groceries, saws and axes, blankets, and other necessaries for their use were also to be purchased and brought up.

They had, when the settler had gone down on the previous week, heard that councils had been held among the village elders as to the rumoured Indian troubles, and as to the best method of defending the place should the enemy threaten an attack. John Mitford had received many warnings, but he paid little attention to them, and while speaking lightly of them to his wife, remarked with a laugh, that with the hired men they would have quite a garrison.

"They will all bring their guns up with them," he said, "and it will scarcely be worth the while of any Indians to attack us when they know that we should be able to make a stout fight, and that even if they took the place there would be nothing to pay them except our scalps for the loss of life they would suffer. The men I hired to-day are all accustomed to border work, and claim to be good shots. I can say as much for myself, and Mary here is a good bit better than I am, and you have learned to make very fair practice, wife."

"I have not had time for much of it, John, but at least I think that I could scarcely miss an Indian at fifty yards; however, as you say, we have been hearing these rumours every three or four months since we settled here, and nothing has ever come of it."

So little did they think of the matter that when they started in the scow an hour before daybreak no allusion was made to it, and Mary was to have supper ready for them on their return.