The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne

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      “Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an’ first-rate livin’ it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip an’ he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, ‘D’ye know what it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?’

      “‘What,’ says he, ‘when we got yon capital marrow-bones?’

      “‘The same,’ says I; ‘yon was horseflesh,’ says I, ‘an’ I think ye’ll sur’ly niver say again that it isn’t first-rate livin’.’

      “‘Yer jokin’,’ says he, turnin’ pale.

      “‘It’s true, sir, as true as yer standin’ there.’

      “Well, would ye believe it; he turned—that Natter-list did—as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days!”

      Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest haste.

      “Hallo! something wrong here,” cried Cameron hastening forward followed by Joe. “What has happened, eh?”

      “Injuns comin’, monsieur, look dere,” answered a trapper, pointing down the valley.

      “Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order.

      The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.

      It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.

      At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.

      “Marrow-bones and buttons!” shouted one of the men, “there goes Dick Varley’s horse.”

      “So it am!” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.

      “Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.

      This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds, a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was, that the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pièrre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with Pièrre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number of the robbers descended further into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have seen, almost into the camp.

      Cameron immediately organised a party to go out in search of Pièrre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.

      CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

       Table of Contents

      Charlie’s adventures with savages and bears—Trapping life.

      It is one thing to chase a horse; it is another thing to catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity is required to convince us of the truth of that fact.

      The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of fancies, to have any fact incontestably proved and established is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won’t deny that! Perhaps he will, so we can only console ourself with the remark that there are people in this world who would deny anything—who would deny that there was a nose on their face if you said there was!

      Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a horse in the abstract; from which we will rapidly diverge to the chase of Dick Varley’s horse in particular. This noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his old fire, and blood, and metal were worked up to a red heat, no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic shake of his mane, and a fling of contempt in addition to a magnificent wave of his tail; then he thundered up the valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt and Henri out of sight behind if—ay! that’s the word, if! what a word that if is! what a world of if’s we live in! There never was anything that wouldn’t have been something else if something hadn’t intervened to prevent it! Yes, we repeat, Charlie would have left his two friends miles and miles behind in what is called “no time,” if he had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no exit except by the entrance, which was immediately barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the runaway.

      For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed. The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is vulgarly termed “a lark.”

      “It won’t do, Henri,” said Joe, advancing towards his companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his leathern coat. “I can’t catch him. The wind’s a-most blowed out o’ me body.”

      “Dat am vexatiable,” replied Henri, in a tone of commiseration. “S’pose I wos make try?”

      “In that case I s’pose ye would fail. But go ahead an’ do what ye can. I’ll hold yer horse.”

      So Henri began by a rush and a flourish of legs and arms that nearly frightened the horse out his wits. For half an hour he went through all the complications of running and twisting of which he was capable, without success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian yell СКАЧАТЬ