“Ay, ay,” was the reply.
In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian’s spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal’s back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head slowly sank, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. “Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, despatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives.
“Ha!” exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, “that’s a good stock o’ meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well.”
“It was much wanted, Jacques: we’ve a good many mouths to feed, besides treating the Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of our hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him.”
“True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the red-skin by rights, that’s sartin.”
After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek.
“Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; “I’ve been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you’ve come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have despatches, of course. Ah! that’s right.” (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), “that’s right. I must peruse these at once.—Mr. Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half-an-hour.” So saying, Mr. Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence—not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc.
“Now it strikes me,” remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley’s bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner—“it strikes me that if that’s his usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn’t anticipate.”
“Don’t judge from first impressions; they’re often deceptive,” spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds—an act which afterwards caused him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears.
“Right,” exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.—“You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He’s a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he’ll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience.”