With similarly benevolent end in view, old Ravenshaw harnessed his horse and made for the same goal, regardless alike of rheumatism, age, and inclement weather. At a certain point, not far from the creek, the old trader’s private track and that which led to the house of Angus Macdonald united, and thereafter joined the main road, which road, by the way, was itself a mere track beaten in the snow, with barely room for two carioles to pass. Now, it so happened that the neighbours came up to the point of junction at the same moment. Both were driving hard, being eager and sympathetic about the sufferings of the plain-hunters. To have continued at the same pace would have been to insure a meeting and a crash. One must give way to the other! Since the affair of the knoll these two men had studiously cut each other. They met every Sabbath day in the same church, and felt this to be incongruous as well as wrong. The son of the one was stolen by savages. The son of the other was doing his utmost to rescue the child. Each regretted having quarrelled with the other, but pride was a powerful influence in both. What was to be done? Time for thought was short, for two fiery steeds were approaching each other at the rate of ten miles an hour. Who was to give in?
“I’ll see both carioles smashed to atoms first!” thought Ravenshaw, grinding his teeth.
“She’ll tie first,” thought Angus, pursing his lips.
The instinct of self-preservation caused both to come to a dead and violent halt when within six yards of the meeting-point. A happy thought burst upon Angus at that instant.
“Efter you, sir,” he said, with a palpable sneer, at the same time backing his horse slightly.
It was an expression of mock humility, and would become an evidence of superior courtesy if Ravenshaw should go insolently on. If, on the other hand, he should take it well, a friendly reference to the roads or the weather would convert the sneer into a mere nasal tone.
“Ah, thanks, thanks,” cried Mr Ravenshaw heartily, as he drove past; “bad news that about the plain-hunters. I suppose you’ve heard it.”
“Ay, it iss pad news—ferry pad news inteed, Mister Ruvnshaw. It will pe goin’ to the fort ye are?”
“Yes; the poor people will need all the help we can give them.”
“They wull that; oo ay.”