The Young Fur Traders. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ the suddenness of the thaw loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates them in masses to the ground. These miniature avalanches are dangerous, people having been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now it happened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partly depended from the roof of the house near to which the horses were standing, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whyte’s speech when he “’ad ’im down to the smith,” fell with a stunning crash on the back of Mr Kennedy’s gray mare. The mare was not “skittish”—by no means—according to Tom’s idea, but it would have been more than an ordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half a ton of snow without some symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel the blow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, by way of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, it sprang over Tom Whyte’s head, jerked the reins from his hand, and upset him in the snow. Poor Tom never bent to anything. The military despotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch of the cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill, laziness, and rheumatism made it at last impossible. When he stood up, he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he broke across at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would have done had it felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came down like an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom became horizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity to fall straight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected, came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flat likewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no sooner felt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round the court, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion.

      The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates of the fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time they were again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit.

      A few minutes after this Mr Grant issued from the principal house, leaning on Mr Kennedy’s arm, and followed by the senior clerk, Peter Mactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in the wolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns or pistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemen alone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than their heavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been strongly advised not to take a gun, lest he should shoot himself or his horse or his companions, was content to take the field with a small pocket-pistol, which he crammed to the muzzle with a compound of ball and swan-shot.

      “It won’t do,” said Mr Grant, in an earnest voice, to his friend, as they walked towards the horses—“it won’t do to check him too abruptly, my dear sir.”

      It was evident that they were recurring to the subject of conversation of the previous day, and it was also evident that the father’s wrath was in that very uncertain state when a word or a look can throw it into violent agitation.

      “Just permit me,” continued Mr Grant, “to get him sent to the Saskatchewan or Athabasca for a couple of years. By that time he’ll have had enough of a rough life, and be only too glad to get a berth at headquarters. If you thwart him now, I feel convinced that he’ll break through all restraint.”

      “Humph!” ejaculated Mr Kennedy, with a frown.—“Come here, Charley,” he said, as the boy approached with a disappointed look to tell of his failure in getting a horse; “I’ve been talking with Mr Grant again about this business, and he says he can easily get you into the counting-room here for a year, so you’ll make arrangements—”

      The old gentleman paused. He was going to have followed his wonted course by commanding instantaneous obedience; but as his eye fell upon the honest, open, though disappointed face of his son, a gush of tenderness filled his heart. Laying his hand upon Charley’s head, he said, in a kind but abrupt tone, “There now, Charley, my boy, make up your mind to give in with a good grace. It’ll only be hard work for a year or two, and then plain sailing after that, Charley!”

      Charley’s clear blue eyes filled with tears as the accents of kindness fell upon his ear.

      It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potent influence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, which assures us that “a soft answer turneth away wrath,” and that “love is the fulfilling of the law,” who has not, in the course of his experience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word; not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but a word spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, and beams in the eye, and revels in every wrinkle of the face? And how much more powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to the heart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to the formation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr Kennedy, senior, known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, we venture to affirm that Mr Kennedy, junior, would have allowed his “flint to be fixed” (as his father pithily expressed it) long ago.

      Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr Grant’s voice, pitched in an elevated key, interrupted them.

      “Eh! what?” said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. “No horse for Charley! How’s that?”

      “No, sir,” said Tom.

      “Where’s the brown pony?” said Mr Grant, abruptly.

      “Cut ’is fetlock, sir,” said Tom slowly.

      “And the new horse?”

      “’Tain’t ’alf broke yet, sir.”

      “Ah! that’s bad.—It wouldn’t do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn’t manage him, I fear. Let me see.”

      “Please, sir,” said the groom, touching his hat, “I’ve borrowed the miller’s pony for ’im, and ’e’s sure to be ’ere in ’alf a hour at farthest.”

      “Oh, that’ll do,” said Mr Grant; “you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company.”

      So saying, Mr Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade.

      “Now this is too bad!” said Charley, looking with a very perplexed air at his companion. “What’s to be done?”

      Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficulty of saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charley very earnestly to take his pony, but this the other would not hear of; so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to wait as patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In the meantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort. Charley assented, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray pony along with them.

      To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end of which commences a growth of willows and underwood, which gradually increases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland, skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belonging to the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenly conceived a strong desire to see the renowned “noo ’oss,” which Tom had said was only “’alf broke;” so he turned the key, opened the door, and went in.

      There was nothing very peculiar about this horse, excepting that his legs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination, there was a noticeable breadth of nostril and a latent fire in his eye, indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley’s own, required taming.

      “Oh,” said Charley, “what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I’ll go out with him.”

      “You’d СКАЧАТЬ