The valley in which the settlement stood was one of those magnificent stretches of primeval forest which used to be the hunting-grounds of the red man, and from which he had not at that time been thrust by the “paleface,” for, here and there, his wigwam might still be seen sending its wreath of blue smoke above the tree-tops.
It was evening—a calm, sunny, glorious, spring evening—when Redding and his man overtopped the heights that enclosed the vale, and paused as well to gaze upon the scene as to recover breath. Far below them lay the hamlet, a cluster of black dots on a field of pure snow. Roseate lights on undulations, and cold blue shadows in hollows, were tamed down in effect by the windows of the hamlet which shot forth beams of blazing fire at the setting sun. Illimitable space seemed to stretch away to the place where the horizon would have been if it had not lost itself in a golden glory, and this vast reach was a varied irregular network of dark pines and fields of snow—the pines tipped everywhere with sparkling snow-wreaths, the fields streaked everywhere with long shadows. Little winding lines of a grey colour which radiated from the hamlet indicated the tracks where the settlers drove their sleighs and wood-sledges. Many of these were seen moving along the far-off tracks like insects, while the tinkle of the sleigh-bells floated upwards like fairy music.
“Yes, I shall take up my abode there,” murmured Redding, as he gazed in rapt admiration on the beautiful scene.
“Monsieur?” said his companion.
“I say that I should like to dwell there,” answered Redding. “It is a splendid country, and will be better known in days to come.”
“Vraiment, truly, a magnifircent kontry,” returned Le Rue, “gorgeows, magnifique! I vould giv moche, ver moche, to have leetil cottage, an vife, an cow, an pigs dere.”
As Redding had been thinking of something similar, he laughed, and commenced the descent of the zigzag track that led to the hamlet.
They had proceeded only a few yards when, turning round a cluster of pines, they suddenly discovered some travellers in difficulty—a man whose horse had shied or stumbled off the narrow track and was embedded up to the girths in the soft snow, and two females, whose furry garments, all besprinkled with snow, showed that they had just emerged from the sledge, which lay on its side behind the horse. The driver’s chief anxiety seemed to be to quiet and restrain his horse, which being high-spirited, was plunging in vain and frantic efforts to extricate himself, to the great danger of shafts and harness.
To run up and aid the man was of course the instant impulse of our travellers.
“Ah! good luck to ’ee,” exclaimed the driver, in tones that were unmistakably Irish, “here, howld ’is head till I get the sled clear.”