The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne
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Название: The Best Ballantyne Westerns
Автор: R. M. Ballantyne
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066385699
isbn:
Just at this moment a passionate growl was heard, and old Mr Kennedy rushed out of the fort in a towering rage.
Now Mr Kennedy had no reason whatever for being angry. He was only a visitor at the fort, and so had no concern in the behaviour of those connected with it. He was not even in the Company’s service now, and could not, therefore, lay claim, as one of its officers, to any right to interfere with its men. But Mr Kennedy never acted much from reason; impulse was generally his guiding-star. He had, moreover, been an absolute monarch, and a commander of men, for many years past in his capacity of fur-trader. Being, as we have said, a powerful, fiery man, he had ruled very much by means of brute force—a species of suasion, by the way, which is too common among many of the gentlemen (?) in the employment of the Hudson’s Bay Company. On hearing, therefore, that the men were fighting in front of the fort, Mr Kennedy rushed out in a towering rage.
“Oh, you precious blackguards!” he cried, running up to the combatants, while with flashing eyes he gazed first at one and then at the other, as if uncertain on which to launch his ire. “Have you no place in the world to fight but here—eh, blackguards?”
“O monsieur,” said Baptiste, lowering his hands, and assuming that politeness of demeanour which seems inseparable from French blood, however much mixed with baser fluid, “I was just giving that dog a thrashing, monsieur.”
“Go!” cried Mr Kennedy, in a voice of thunder, turning to Hugh, who still stood in a pugilistic attitude, with very little respect in his looks.
Hugh hesitated to obey the order; but Mr Kennedy continued to advance, grinding his teeth and working his fingers convulsively, as if belonged to lay violent hold of the Orkney-man’s swelled nose; so he retreated in his uncertainty, but still with his face to the foe. As has been already said, the Assiniboine River flows within a hundred yards of the gate of Fort Garry. The two men, in their combat, had approached pretty near to the bank, at a place where it descends somewhat precipitately into the stream. It was towards this bank that Hugh Mathison was now retreating, crab fashion, followed by Mr Kennedy, and both of them so taken up with each other that neither perceived the fact until Hugh’s heel struck against a stone just at the moment that Mr Kennedy raised his clinched fist in a threatening attitude. The effect of this combination was to pitch the poor man head over heels down the bank, into a row of willow bushes, through which, as he rolled with great speed, he went with a loud crash, and shot head first, like a startled alligator, into the water, amid a roar of laughter from his comrades and the people belonging to the fort; most of whom, attracted by the fight, were now assembled on the banks of the river.
Mr Kennedy’s wrath vanished immediately, and he joined in the laughter; but his face instantly changed when he beheld Hugh sputtering in deep water, and heard some one say that he could not swim.
“What! can’t swim?” he exclaimed, running down the bank to the edge of the water. Baptiste was before him, however. In a moment he plunged in up to the neck, stretched forth his arm, grasped Hugh by the hair, and dragged him to the land.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
Farewell to Kate—Departure of the brigade—Charley becomes a voyageur.
On the following day at noon, the spot on which the late combat had taken place became the theatre of a stirring and animated scene. Fort Garry, and the space between it and the river, swarmed with voyageurs, dressed in their cleanest, newest, and most brilliant costume. The large boats for the north, six in number, lay moored to the river’s bank, laden with bales of furs, and ready to start on their long voyage. Young men, who had never been on the road before, stood with animated looks watching the operations of the guides as they passed critical examination upon their boats, overhauled the oars to see that they were in good condition, or with crooked knives (a species of instrument in the use of which voyageurs and natives are very expert) polished off the top of a mast, the blade of an oar, or the handle of a tiller. Old men, who had passed their lives in similar occupations, looked on in silence—some standing with their heads bent on their bosoms, and an expression of sadness about their faces, as if the scene recalled some mournful event of their early life, or possibly reminded them of wild, joyous scenes of other days, when the blood coursed warmly in their young veins, and the strong muscles sprang lightly to obey their will; when the work they had to do was hard, and the sleep that followed it was sound—scenes and days that were now gone by for ever. Others reclined against the wooden fence, their arms crossed, their thin white hair waving gently in the breeze, and a kind smile playing on their sunburned faces, as they observed the swagger and coxcombry of the younger men, or watched the gambols of several dark-eyed little children—embryo buffalo-hunters and voyageurs—whose mothers had brought them to the fort to get a last kiss from papa, and witness the departure of the boats.
Several tender scenes were going on in out-of-the-way places—in angles of the walls and bastions, or behind the gates—between youthful couples about to be separated for a season. Interesting scenes these of pathos and pleasantry—a combination of soft glances and affectionate, fervent assurances; alternate embraces (that were apparently received with reluctance, but actually with delight), and proffers of pieces of calico and beads and other trinkets (received both apparently and actually with extreme satisfaction) as souvenirs of happy days that were past, and pledges of unalterable constancy and bright hopes in days that were yet to come.
A little apart from the others, a youth and a girl might be seen sauntering slowly towards the copse beyond the stable. These were Charley Kennedy and his sister Kate, who had retired from the bustling scene to take a last short walk together, ere they separated, it might be for years, perhaps for ever! Charley held Kate’s hand, while her sweet little head rested on his shoulder.
“O Charley, Charley, my own dear, darling Charley, I’m quite miserable, and you ought not to go away; it’s very wrong, and I don’t mind a bit what you say, I shall die if you leave me!” And Kate pressed him tightly to her heart, and sobbed in the depth of her woe.
“Now, Kate, my darling, don’t go on so! You know I can’t help it—”
“I don’t know,” cried Kate, interrupting him, and speaking vehemently—“I don’t know, and I don’t believe, and I don’t care for anything at all; it’s very hard-hearted of you, and wrong, and not right, and I’m just quite wretched!”
Poor Kate was undoubtedly speaking the absolute truth; for a more disconsolate and wretched look of woe-begone misery was never seen on so sweet and tender and lovable a little face before. Her blue eyes swam in two lakes of pure crystal, that overflowed continually; her mouth, which was usually round, had become an elongated oval; and her nut-brown hair fell in dishevelled masses over her soft cheeks.
“O Charley,” she continued, “why won’t you stay?”
“Listen to me, dearest Kate,” said Charley, in a very husky voice. “It’s too late to draw back now, even if I wished to do so; and you don’t consider, darling, СКАЧАТЬ