At this point Bounce recollected having seen an Indian missionary, who had been taken when a boy from his father’s wigwam and educated, and who had turned out as good and respectable a Christian gentleman as most white men, and better than many, so he checked himself and said—
“Leastwise they can’t be nothin’ but savages so—so long as they is savages.”
This argument, although exceedingly obvious, seemed even to his own mind to possess so little power, that he endeavoured to enforce it by slapping his thigh with such energy that the body of the red squirrel nearly jumped out at its own eyes. It clasped the tree stem to its beating heart bravely, however, and, judging from its subsequent conduct, speedily recovered its self-possession.
“That’s how it is,” continued Bounce; “an’ that bein’ the case, savages always invariably thinks o’ number one before they thinks on anythin’ else. Now, as men judges theirselves so they judges of others—that’s a fact, as all feelosophy has preclaimed, an’ all experience has pruven. Wot then? Why, them savages ’ll think I’ve cleared off—made tracks—thankful to git away with my own skin whole, and carin’ no more for my comrades than if they wos so many stumps. Thinkin’ that, of coorse they’ll think it’s o’ no use to try to cross the river and give chase, ’cause I’ve got a long start o’ ’em, an’ so, d’ye see, they’ll give me up an’ think no more about me. Good! very good! But p’r’aps it’s jest poss’ble that feller whose paw I tickled may sometimes recall me to mind.”
This last idea tickled the trapper so powerfully that he chuckled in a quiet way, and in doing so exposed such a double row of white teeth that the squirrel, which had remained for some time in an attitude of deep attention, began to show symptoms of uneasiness.
“Now I’ll tell you wot I’ll do,” continued Bounce, resuming his look of grave anxiety as the thought of his comrades recurred to him; “I’ll go up the river till I comes to opposite the place where I shoved the canoe into the water. By the time I git there it’ll be dark; then I’ll swum across an’ foller the redskins an’ save my comrades if I can. If I can’t, wot then? why, I’ll leave the scalp of Bob Ounce to dangle in the smoke of a redskin’s wigwam.”
We have elsewhere hinted that when a Rocky Mountain trapper makes up his mind to do a certain thing he usually does it at once. Having settled the plan of his future proceedings, Bounce did not waste more time in thought or speech. He thrust his unsmoked pipe into his bosom, leaped up from the trunk of the fallen tree, and darted from the spot with such sudden promptitude, that the horrified squirrel sprang wildly into empty space and vanished from the scene for ever!
For a quarter of an hour Bounce glided noiselessly through the forest, keeping a course parallel with the river. In the deepening gloom of evening, he appeared more like a spectre than a human being—so quick and agile were his motions as he flitted past the tree stems, yet so noiseless the tread of his moccasined feet. The bushes were thick and in places tangled, compelling him to stoop and twist and diverge right and left as he sped along, but, being unencumbered with weapons or weight of any kind, he advanced so rapidly that in the short space of time we have mentioned he stood opposite to that part of the bank where the attack had been made, and below which he had been swept for a great distance in the canoe by the rapid stream.
Here he spent some time in reconnoitring the opposite bank, but without gathering much information from his observations. No symptom of the presence of human beings could be discovered. No column of smoke rising above the trees to tell of the watch-fire of white man or red. The trapper listened intently, then he bethought him, for the first time, of giving the signal which, at setting out on their journey, they had agreed to use in all circumstances of danger. It was the low howl of a wolf followed immediately by the hoot of an owl. The reply to it was to be the hoot of the owl without the cry of the wolf when danger should be imminent and extreme caution necessary, or the howl of the wolf alone if danger should have passed away.
To the first utterance of the signal no reply was made. After waiting a few seconds, Bounce gave it forth again. Immediately after, the low howl of a wolf was heard on the opposite bank, and a figure appeared at the edge of the river. Darkness prevented the trapper ascertaining who it was, but a repetition of the cry convinced him that it could be none other than Black Gibault.