Chapter Twenty One.
Dugald continues his story—A fearful storm—Attacked by wolves—Lost in the forest—Indians—The surrender—The escape—The mine of gold.
“But it wasn’t always plain sailing with us either on these expeditions,” said Dugald, continuing the narrative of his adventures; “sometimes storms would arise, ay, and such storms too! One I shall never forget; our horses were picketed down stream, but on high ground; so as soon as the blue sky got overcast, and while yet the thunder was muttering ominously in the distance, we made up our minds to get down towards them as speedily as possible, not knowing how they would fare.
“Well was it for us we had lashed our frail canoes together, for there was one portion of the great river which it was dangerous to descend, even in fine weather, so rapid was the current. When we reached this place the storm was at its very worst, and we found ourselves suddenly whirling along in the midst of a raging cataract, a boiling surging cataract. The thunder seemed rending the forest, and the very rocks around us; the rain was terrible, and I had never seen such lightning before; forked and sheet I had been used to, but here great balls of fire fell from heaven, splitting, and hissing as they reached the waves. It was indeed a fearful storm. When we reached camp at long last, we expected to find that our horses had broken loose in the extremity of their terror, but we were greatly mistaken; here they were safe enough, and although there was evidence in the state of the ground that they had been at first alarmed, they were quiet now; ay, even cowed in their joy to see us, they fawned upon us almost as a dog would have done.
“But this forest life of ours was not so very pleasant when summer ended, and winter began to give token of his speedy approach. However, we determined to make the best of it. We built ourselves a hut of logs, and a rude stable for our horses, then we had to lay aside for a time our guns and fishing-rods, and instead of hunting, take to farming, and make hay while yet the sun shone. As long as the horses could be turned out lariated, they could find provisions for themselves, but when the snow fell, as fall it did ere long, we had to find fodder for them indoors.
“We did not forget our own larder, you may be sure, and right thankful were we that we had not forgotten to take with us a traveller’s cooking stove, with a store of oil by way of fuel. Not that we expected an Arctic winter by any means. Our guide, a sturdy bearded man of some fifty summers, had trapped in these wilds for more than twenty years, and could remember many a winter passing without the grass being even once covered with snow. But travellers should always be provided against even probabilities, and as it turned out it was well we were. We enjoyed Christmas in our rude log hut almost if not quite as well as if at home, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the merry songs we sang, or to have listened to the strange stories of our guide. No traveller’s tales were these, they were painted from the life and natural. The wolves used to come howling round our doors now of nights. A fall of snow, that came on about the beginning of the new year, seemed to make the creatures hungry. They came after the bones that were thrown out, at least that was how they pretended to account for their visit, but we knew well they would not hesitate a moment to attack the horses if they could only find a chance.