smoke. Both parties were seated on the ground, and during this interval the Indians also held eager discussion.
At length Cameron stood up, and said to his men in a quiet tone, “Be ready, lads, for instant action; when I give the word ‘Up,’ spring to your feet and cock your guns, but don’t fire a shot till you get the word.” He then stepped forward and said—
“The Peigan warriors are double-tongued; they know that they have hid the Pale-face prisoners. We do not wish to quarrel, but if they are not delivered up at once, the Pale-faces and the Peigans will not be friends.”
Upon this the Indian chief again stood forward and said, “The Peigans are not double-tongued. They have not seen Pale-faces till to-day. They can say no more.”
Without moving hand or foot, Cameron then said in a firm tone, “The first Peigan that moves shall die! Up, lads, and ready!”
In the twinkling of an eye the trappers sprang to their feet, and cocking their rifles stood perfectly motionless, scowling at the savages, who were completely taken by surprise at the unusual suddenness and informality of such a declaration of war. Not a man moved, for, unlike white men, they seldom risk their lives in open fight; and as they looked at the formidable row of muzzles that waited but a word to send instant death into their midst, they felt that discretion was at that time the better part of valour.
“Now,” said Cameron, while Dick Varley and Crusoe stepped up beside him, “my young warrior will search for the Pale-face prisoners. If they are found, we will take them and go away. If they are not found, we will ask the Peigans to forgive us, and will give them gifts. But in the meantime, if a Peigan moves from the spot where he sits, or lifts a bow, my young men shall fire, and the Peigans know that the rifle of the Pale-face always kills.”
Without waiting for an answer, Dick immediately said, “Seek ’em out, pup,” and Crusoe bounded away.
For a few minutes he sprang hither and thither through the camp, quite regardless of the Indians, and snuffed the air several times, whining in an excited tone, as if to relieve his feelings. Then he put his nose to the ground and ran straight forward into the woods. Dick immediately bounded after him like a deer, while the trappers kept silent guard over the savages.
For some time Crusoe ran straight forward. Then he came to a spot where there was a good deal of drifted snow on the ground. Here he seemed to lose the trail for a little, and ran about in all directions, whining in a most piteous tone.
“Seek ’em out, pup,” repeated Dick encouragingly, while his own breast heaved with excitement and expectation.
In a few seconds the dog resumed its onward course, and led the way into a wild, dark spot, which was so overshadowed by trees and precipitous cliffs that the light of the sun scarce found entrance. There were many huge masses of rock scattered over the ground, which had fallen from the cliffs. Behind one of these lay a mound of dried leaves, towards which Crusoe darted and commenced scraping violently.
Trembling with dread that he should find this to be the grave of his murdered companions, Dick rushed forward and hastily cleared away the leaves. The first handful thrown off revealed part of the figure of a man. Dick’s heart beat audibly as he cleared the leaves from the face, and he uttered a suppressed cry on beholding the well-known features of Joe Blunt! But they were not those of a dead man. Joe’s eyes met his with a scowl of anger, which instantly gave place to one of intense surprise.
“Joe Blunt!” exclaimed Dick in a voice of intense amazement, while Crusoe sniffed round the heap of leaves, and whined with excitement. But Joe did not move, neither did he speak a word in reply—for the very good reasons that his mouth was tightly bound with a band of leather, his hands and feet were tied, and his whole body was secured in a rigid, immovable position by being bound to a pole of about his own length.
In a moment Dick’s knife was out, bands and cords were severed, and Joe Blunt was free.
“Thank God,” exclaimed Joe with a deep, earnest sigh, the instant his lips were loosened, “and thanks to you, lad,” he added, endeavouring to rise, but his limbs had become so benumbed in consequence of the cords by which they had been compressed that for some time he could not move.
“I’ll rub ye, Joe—I’ll soon rub ye into a right state,” said Dick, going down on his knees.
“No, no, lad, look sharp and dig up Henri. He’s just beside me here.”
Dick immediately rose, and, pushing aside the heap of leaves, found Henri securely bound in the same fashion. But he could scarce refrain from laughing at the expression of that worthy’s face. Hearing the voices of Joe and Dick Varley in conversation, though unable to see their persons, he was filled with such unbounded amazement that his eyes, when uncovered, were found to be at their largest possible stretch, and as for the eyebrows, they were gone, utterly lost among the roots of his voluminous hair.
“Henri, friend, I knew I should find ye,” said Dick, cutting the thongs that bound him. “Get up if ye can, we haven’t much time to lose, an’ mayhap we’ll have to fight afore we’re done wi’ the Red-skins. Can ye rise?”
Henri could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp, “Eh! possible! mon frère! Oh, non, non, not possible. Oui! my broder Deek!”
Here he attempted to rise, but, being unable, fell back again, and the whole thing came so suddenly, and made so deep an impression on his impulsive mind, that he incontinently burst into tears; then he burst into a long laugh. Suddenly he paused, and, scrambling up to a sitting posture, looked earnestly into Dick’s face through his tearful eyes.
“Oh, non, non!” he exclaimed, stretching himself out at full length again, and closing his eyes; “it are too goot to be true. I am dream. I vill wait till I am wake.”
Dick roused him out of this resolute sleep, however, somewhat roughly. Meanwhile Joe had rubbed and kicked himself into a state of animation, exclaiming that he felt as if he wos walkin’ on a thousand needles and pins, and in a few minutes they were ready to accompany their overjoyed deliverer back to the Peigan camp. Crusoe testified his delight in various elephantine gambols round the persons of his old friends, who were not slow to acknowledge his services.
“They haven’t treated us overly well,” remarked Joe Blunt, as they strode through the underwood.
“Non, de rascale, vraiment, de am villains. Oui! How de have talk, too, ’bout—oh-o-oo-ooo-wah!—roastin’ us alive, an’ puttin’ our scalp in de vigvam for de poopoose to play wid!”
“Well, niver mind, Henri, we’ll be quits wi’ them now,” said Joe, as they came in sight of the two bands, who remained in precisely the same position in which they had been left, except that one or two of the more reckless of the trappers had lit their pipes and taken to smoking, without, however, laying down their rifles or taking their eyes off the savages.
A loud cheer greeted the arrival of the prisoners, and looks of considerable discomfort began to be evinced by the Indians.
“Glad to see you, friends,” said Cameron, as they came up.
“Ve is ’appy ov de same,” replied Henri, swaggering up in the joviality of his heart, and seizing the trader’s hand in his own enormous fist. “Shall ve go to york an’ slay dem all at vonce, or von at a time?”
“We’ll consider that afterwards, my lad. Meantime go you to the rear, and get a weapon of some sort.”
“Oui. Ah! c’est charmant,” he cried, going with an immense flounder into the midst of the amused trappers, and slapping those next to him on the back. “Give me veapon, do, mes ami—gun, pistol, anyting—cannon, if you have von.”
Meanwhile Cameron and Joe spoke together for a few moments.
“You had goods with you, and horses, I believe, when you were captured,” said the former.
“Ay, that we had. Yonder stand the horses under the pine-tree, along wi’ the rest o’ the Red-skin troop, an a hard time they’ve