CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE WOUNDED FUR TRADER.
When they reached the entrance to the cavern, March and his companiondismounted; but the latter was so weak from loss of blood that hestumbled at the foot of the track, and fell to the earth insensible.
March ran hastily in for assistance, and was not a little surprised tofind Dick sitting alone by the side of the fire, and so absorbed in theperusal of a little book that he had not noticed his entrance--a verysingular and unaccountable piece of absence of mind in one so welltrained in the watchful ways of the backwoods.
"Ho! Dick!" cried the youth.
"What, March--March Marston!" exclaimed the Wild Man, springing up,seizing him by the shoulders, and gazing intently into his face, as ifto assure himself that he was not dreaming.
"Ay, no doubt I'm March Marston; though how you came to find out my nameI don't know--"
"Easy enough that, lad, when you leave your mother's Bible behind ye,"cried Dick with a wild laugh. "She must be a good mother that o' yours.Is she alive yet, boy?"
"That is she, an' well, I trust--"
"An' your father," interrupted Dick; "how's he, lad, eh?"
"I don't know," said March, frowning; "he forsook us fourteen yearsagone; but it's little good talking o' such matters now, when there's apoor fellow dyin' outside."
"Dyin'?"
"Ay, so it seems to me. I've brought him to see if ye can stop thebleedin', but he's fainted, and I can't lift--"
Dick waited for no more, but, hastening out, raised Macgregor in hisarms, and carried him into the inner cave, where Mary was lying soundasleep on her lowly couch.
"Come, Mary, lass, make way for this poor feller."
The child leaped up, and, throwing a deerskin round her, stepped asideto allow the wounded man to be placed on her bed. Her eye immediatelyfell on March, who stood in the entrance, and she ran to him insurprise.
"What's de matter, March?"
"Hush, Mary," said Dick in a low voice; "we'll have to speak soft. PoorMacgregor won't be long for this world, I'm afear'd. Fetch me the boxo' things."
"You know him, then?" whispered March, in surprise.
"Ay, I've often bin to the Mountain Fort and seed him there. See, he'scomin' to. Put that torch more behind me, lad. It'll be better for himnot to see me."
As he spoke the wounded man sighed faintly. Opening his eyes, he said,"Where am I?"
"Speak to him," whispered Dick, looking over his shoulder at March, whoadvanced, and, kneeling at the side of the couch, said--
"You're all right, Mr Macgregor. I've brought you to the hunter'shome. He'll dress your wound and take care of you, so make your mindeasy. But you'll have to keep quiet. You've lost much blood."
The fur trader turned round and seemed to fall asleep, while Dick boundhis wound, and then, leaving him to rest, he and March returned to theother cave.
During that night Dick seemed in an unaccountably excited state.Sometimes he sat down by the fire and talked with March in an absentmanner on all kinds of subjects--his adventures, his intentions, hishome at Pine Point; but from his looks it seemed as if his thoughts wereotherwise engaged, and occasionally he started up and paced the floorhurriedly, while his brows darkened and his broad chest heaved as thoughhe were struggling with some powerful feeling or passion.
"Could it be," thought March, "that there was some mysterious connectionbetween Dick and the wounded fur trader?" Not being able to find asatisfactory reply to the thought, he finally dismissed it, and turnedhis attentions altogether towards Mary, whose looks of surprise andconcern showed that she too was puzzled by the behaviour of her adoptedfather.
During that night and all the next day the wounded man grew rapidlyworse, and March stayed with him, partly because he felt a stronginterest in and pity for him, and partly because he did not like toleave to Mary the duty of watching a dying man.
Dick went out during the day in the same excited state, and did notreturn till late in the evening. During his absence, the dying man'smind wandered frequently, and, in order to check this as well as tocomfort him, March read to him from his mother's Bible. At times heseemed to listen intently to the words that fell from March's lips, butmore frequently he lay in a state apparently of stupor.
"Boy," said he, starting suddenly out of one of those heavy slumbers,"what's the use of reading the Bible to me? I'm not a Christian, an'it's too late now--too late!"
"The Bible tells me that `_now_' is God's time. I forget where thewords are, an' I can't find 'em," said March earnestly; "but I _know_they're in this book. Besides, don't you remember the thief who wassaved when he hung on the cross in a dyin' state?"
The fur trader shook his head slowly, and still muttered, "Too late, toolate."
March now became deeply anxious about the dying man, who seemed to himlike one sinking in the sea, yet refusing to grasp the rope that wasflung to him. He turned over the sacred pages hurriedly to findappropriate texts, and blamed himself again and again for not havingmade himself better acquainted with the Word of God. He also repeatedall he could think of from memory; but still the dying man shook hishead and muttered, "Too late!" Suddenly March bent over him and said--
"Christ is able to save to the _uttermost_ all who come unto God throughHim."
The fur trader looked up in silence for a few seconds. "Ay," said he,"many a time have I heard the old minister at Pine Point say that."
"Pine Point!" exclaimed March in surprise.
"Perhaps they're true, after all," continued Macgregor, not noticing theinterruption. "Oh! Mary, Mary, surely I did the uttermost when Iforsook ye. Let me see the words, boy; are they there?"
A strange suspicion flashed suddenly on the mind of March as he listenedto these words, and he trembled violently as he handed him the book.
"What--what's this? Where got ye my wife's Bible? You must," (he addedbetween his teeth, in a sudden burst of anger) "have murdered my boy."
"Father!" exclaimed March, seizing Macgregor's hand.
The dying man started up with a countenance of ashy paleness, and,leaning on one elbow, gazed earnestly into the youth's face--"March! canit be my boy?" and fell back with a heavy groan. The bandages had beenloosened by the exertion, and blood was pouring freely from his wound.The case admitted of no delay. March hurriedly attempted to stop theflow of the vital stream, assisted by Mary, who had been sitting at thefoot of the couch bathed in tears during the foregoing scene.
Just then Dick returned, and, seeing how matters stood, quicklystaunched the wound; but his aid came too late. Macgregor, or ratherObadiah Marston, opened his eyes but once after that, and seemed as ifhe wished to speak. March bent down quickly and put his ear close tohis mouth; there was a faint whisper, "God bless you, March, my son,"and then all was still!
March gazed long and breathlessly at the dead countenance; then, lookingslowly up in Dick's face, he said, pointing to the dead man, "Myfather!" and fell insensible on the couch beside him.
We will pass over the first few days that succeeded the event justnarrated, during which poor March Marston went about the wild region inthe vicinity of the cave like one in a dream. It may be imagined withwhat surprise the trappers learned from him the near relationship thatexisted between himself and the fur trader. They felt and expressed thedeepest sympathy with their young comrade, and offered to accompany himwhen he laid his father in the grave. But Dick had firmly refused toallow the youth to bring the trappers near his abode, so they forbore topress him, and the last sad rites were performed by himself and Dickalone. The grave was made in the centre of a little green vale whichlay like an emerald in the heart of that rocky wilderness; and a littlewooden cross, with the name and date cut thereon by March, was erectedat the head of the low mound to mark the fur trader's last lonelyresting-place. March Marston had never known his father in early life,having been an infant when he deserted his family; and the little thathe had seen of him at the Mountain Fort, and amid the
wild scenes of theRocky Mountains, had not made a favourable impression on him. But, nowthat he was gone, the natural instinct of affection arose within hisbreast. He called to remembrance the last few and sad hours which hehad spent by his parent's dying bed. He thought of their last few wordson the momentous concerns of the soul, and of the eagerness with which,at times, the dying man listened to the life-giving Word of God; and thetear of sorrow that fell upon the grave, as he turned to quit thatsolitary spot, was mingled with a tear of joy and thankfulness that Godhad brought him there to pour words of comfort and hope into his dyingfather's ear.
That night he spent in the cave with Dick; he felt indisposed to joinhis old comrades just then. The grave tenderness of his eccentricfriend, and the sympathy of little Mary, were more congenial to him.
"March," said Dick in a low, sad tone, as they sat beside the fire,"that funeral reminds me o' my friend I told ye of once. It's alonesome grave his, with nought but a wooden cross to mark it."
"Had you known him long, Dick?"
"No, not long. He left the settlement in a huff--bein', I b'lieve,crossed in love, as I told ye."
Dick paused, and clasping both hands over his knee, gazed with a look ofmingled sternness and sorrow at the glowing fire.
"Did ye ever," he resumed abruptly, "hear o' a feller called Louis, whoonce lived at Pine Point--before ye was born, lad; did ye ever hear yermother speak of him?"
"Louis? Yes--well, I believe I do think I've heard the name before. Ohyes! People used to say he was fond o' my mother when she was a girl;but I never heard her speak of him. Now ye mention it, I remember theonly time I ever asked her about it, she burst into tears, and told menever to speak of him again. Thadwick was his name--Louis Thadwick; buthe was better known as Louis the Trapper. But he's almost forgotten atthe settlement now; it's so long ago. Every one thinks him dead. Whyd'ye ask?"
"Think he's dead?" repeated Dick slowly. "An' why not? My poor friendthat was killed when he left his native place swore he'd never go back,an' no more he did--no more he did; though he little thought that deathwould step in so soon to make him keep his word."
"Was Louis your friend who died?" inquired March with much interest andnot a little pity, for he observed that his companion was deeplyaffected.
Dick did not reply. His thoughts seemed to be wandering again, so Marchforbore to interrupt him, and, turning to Mary, said in a more cheerfultone--
"Whether would ye like to go to Pine Point settlement and stay with mymother, or that I should come here and spend the winter with you andDick?"
Mary looked puzzled, and after some moments' consideration replied, "Medon't know." Then, looking up quickly, she added, "Which _you_ like?"
"Indeed, I must make the same reply, Mary--`I don't know.' But, as Ican't expect my friend Dick to give up his wild life, I suppose I mustmake up my mind to come here."
"March," said Dick quickly, "I've changed my mind, lad. It won't do.You'll have to spend next winter at home--anyhow ye can't spend it withme."
Had a thunderbolt struck the earth between March and Mary, they wouldnot have been filled with half so much consternation as they were onhearing these words. It was plain that both had thoroughly made uptheir minds that they were to be together for many months to come. Dicknoted the effect of his remark, and a peculiar frown crossed hiscountenance for a moment, but it gave place to a smile, as he said--
"I'm sorry to disappoint ye, lad, but the thing cannot be."
"Cannot be!" repeated March in a tone of exasperation, for he felt thatthis was an unwarrantable piece of caprice on the part of his friend;"surely you don't claim to be chief of the Rocky Mountains! If I chooseto come an' spend the winter in this region, you have no right toprevent me. And if I offer to bring you furs and venison, besidespretty good company, will ye be such a surly knave as to refuse me acorner of your cave?"
"Nay, lad. Right welcome would ye be, with or without furs or venison;but I mean to leave the cave--to quit this part of the countryaltogether. The fact is, I'm tired of it, an' want a change."
"Very good, all right, an' what's to hinder my going with you? I'm fondo' change myself. I'd as soon go one way as another."
Dick shook his head. "It's o' no use, March, I've my own reasons fordesirin' to travel alone. The thing cannot be."
This was said in such a decided tone that March looked at Mary indismay. He gathered no consolation from her countenance, however.
"March," said Dick firmly, "I'm sorry to grieve ye, lad, but it can't behelped. All I can say is, that if ye choose to come back here nextsummer you'll be heartily welcome, and I'll engage that ye'll find mehere; but I'm quite sartin' ye won't want to come."
"Won't want to come! I'll bet ye a hundred thousand million dollarsI'll want to come, ay, and _will_ come," cried March.
"Done!" said Dick, seizing the youth's hand, "an' Mary's a witness tothe wager."
It is needless to say that the conversation did not rest here. Thegreater part of that night, and during great part of the week that Marchremained there, he continued to press the Wild Man of the West to alterhis purpose, but without avail. Each day he passed with his comrades,hunting and trapping, and each night he bade them adieu and returned tosup and sleep in the cave, and, of course, persecuted Dick all thattime; but Dick was immovable.
Of course, the trappers renewed their attempts to get March to show themDick's abode, but he persistently refused, and they were toogood-natured to annoy him, and too honest to follow his trail, whichthey might easily have done, had they been so disposed.
At last the time arrived when it became necessary that the trappersshould return to Pine Point settlement. In the midst of all theiralarms and fights they had found time to do, what Big Waller termed, a"pretty considerable stroke o' business." That is to say, they hadkilled a large number of fur-bearing animals by means of trap, snare,and gun, so that they were in a position to return home with a heavyload of valuable skins. The day of their departure was thereforearranged, and March, mounting his steed, galloped, for the last time,and with a heavy heart, towards the cave of his friend Dick.
As he passed rapidly over the wild country, and entered the gloomyrecesses that surrounded the Wild Man's home, he thought over thearguments and persuasive speeches with which he meant to make a lastand, he still hoped, successful appeal. But March might have sparedhimself the trouble of all this thought, for when he reached the caveDick was absent. This grieved, him deeply, because every preparationhad been made by his companions for starting on their homeward journeythat evening, so that he had no time to spare.
Mary, was at home, however, so March felt a little consoled, and,seating himself in his wonted place beside the fire, he said--
"When will Dick be home, Mary?"
"Me no can know 'xactly. To-morray hims say, perhaps."
"Then it's all up," sighed March, leaning recklessly back against thewall; "all up! I'm off to-night, so I'll not be able to spend thewinter with you after all."
Had Mary burst into tears on hearing this, March would have feltsatisfied. Had she groaned or sobbed, or even sighed, he would haveexperienced some degree of relief to his annoyed and disappointedspirit, but when Mary, instead of any such demonstration, hung down herhead so that the heavy masses of her soft brown hair hid her pretty faceand said in a tone which March fancied was not very genuine, "What apity!" he became extremely exasperated, and deemed himself ill-used.
During the half-hour that succeeded he endeavoured to converse in apleasant tone of voice, but without success. At last he rose to go.
"Must you go 'way dis night?" said Mary with a look of concern.
"Ay, Mary, an' it's not much matter, for ye don't seem to care."
The girl looked at him reproachfully, "You is not please' with me,March--why?"
The question puzzled the youth. He certainly was displeased, but hecould not make up his mind to say that he was so because Mary had notfallen into a state of violent
grief at the prospect of a separation.But the anxious gaze of Mary's truthful blue eyes was too much for him--he suddenly grasped both her hands, and, kissing her forehead, said--
"Mary dear, I'm not displeased. I'm only sorry, and sad, and annoyed,and miserable--very miserable--I can scarcely tell why. I suppose I'mnot well, or I'm cross, or something or other. But this I know, Mary,Dick has invited me to come back to see him next year, and I certainlyshall come if life and limb hold out till then."
Mary's eyes filled with tears, and as she smiled through them, March,being very near her face, beheld in each eye an excessively miniatureportrait of himself gazing out at him lovingly.
"Perhaps!" faltered Mary, "you no want for come when it be nixt year."
Poor March was overwhelmed again, absolutely disgusted, that _she_ couldentertain a doubt upon that point!
"We shall see," he cried with a sudden impulse, pressing his lips againto her forehead. "May the Great Spirit bless and keep you! Good-bye,Mary--till next spring."
March burst away from her, rushed out of the cave in a tumult ofconflicting feelings and great resolves, and despite a little stiffnessthat still remained to remind him of his late accident, flung himselfinto the saddle with a bound that would have done credit to the Wild Manhimself, and galloped down the rocky gorge at a pace that threatened asudden and total smash to horse and man. Had any of his old comrades orfriends witnessed that burst, they would certainly have said that MarchMarston was mad--madder, perhaps, than the most obstreperous March harethat ever marched madly through the wild regions of insanity.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
MARCH MARSTON AT HOME--HIS ASTONISHING BEHAVIOUR--NARRATION OF HISEXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES--WIDOW MARSTON'S BOWER--THE RENDEZVOUS OF THETRAPPERS--A STRANGE INTERRUPTION TO MARCH'S NARRATIVE--A WILD SURPRISEAND RECOVERY OF A LOST LOVER--GREAT DESTRUCTION OF HOUSEHOLD GOODS--ADOUBLE WEDDING AND TREMENDOUS EXCITEMENT--THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST THEWISEST MAN IN PINE POINT SETTLEMENT.
Three months passed away, and at the end of that period March Marstonfound himself back again in Pine Point settlement, sitting on a lowstool at that fireside where the yelling and kicking days of his infancyhad been spent, and looking up in the face of that buxom, blue-eyedmother, with whom he had been wont to hold philosophical converse inregard to fighting and other knotty--not to say naughty--questions, inthose bright but stormy days of childhood when he stood exactly"two-foot-ten," and when he looked and felt as if he stood upwards often feet two!
Three months passed away, and during the passage of that period MarchMarston's bosom became a theatre in which, unseen by the naked eye, werea legion of spirits, good, middling, and bad, among whom were hope,fear, despair, joy, fun, delight, interest, surprise, mischief,exasperation, and a military demon named General Jollity, who overboreand browbeat all the rest by turns. These scampered through his brainand tore up his heart and tumbled about in his throat and lungs, andmaintained a furious harlequinade, and in short behaved in a way thatwas quite disgraceful, and that caused the poor young man alternately toamuse, annoy, astonish, and stun his comrades, who beheld the exteriorresults of those private theatricals, but had no conception of theterrific combats that took place so frequently on the stage within.
During those three months, March saw many things. He saw his oldfriends the prairie dogs, and the prong-horned antelopes, and the grislybears, and the wolves; more than that, he chased, and shot, and ate manyof them. He also saw clouds of locusts flying high in the air, so thickthat they sometimes darkened the very sky, and herds of buffaloes solarge that they often darkened the whole plain.
During those three months March learned a good deal. He learned thatthere was much more of every sort of thing in this world than he had hadany idea of--that there was much, very much, to be thankful for--thatthere were many, very many, things to be grieved for, and many also tobe glad about--that the fields of knowledge were inimitably large, andthat his own individual acquirements were preposterously, humblinglysmall!
He thought much, too. He thought of the past, present, and future inquite a surprising way. He thought of his mother and her loneliness, ofDick and his obstinacy, of Mary and her sweetness, of the Wild Man ofthe West and his invisibility. When this latter thought arose, it hadthe effect invariably of rousing within him demon Despair; also GeneralJollity, for the general had a particular spite against that demon, and,whenever he showed symptoms of vitality, attacked him with a species offrenzy that was quite dreadful to feel, and the outward manifestationsof which were such as to cause the trappers to fear seriously that thepoor youth had "gone out of his mind," as they expressed it. But theywere wrong--quite wrong--it was only the natural consequence of thosedemons and sprites having gone into his mind, where they were behavingthemselves--as Bounce, when March made him his confidant, said--with"horrible obstropolosity."
Well, as we have said, March was seated on a low stool, looking up inhis mother's face. He had already been three days at home, and, duringevery spare minute he had he sat himself down on the same stool, andwent on with his interminable narrations of the extraordinary adventuresthrough which he had passed while among the Rocky Mountains and out uponthe great prairies.
Widow Marston--for she knew that she was a widow now, though theknowledge added but little to the feeling of widowhood to which she hadbeen doomed for so many years--widow Marston, we say, listened to thisinterminable narration with untiring patience and unmitigated pleasure.There was as yet no symptom of the narrative drawing to a close, neitherwas there the slightest evidence of the widow Marston becoming wearied.We have seen a cat worried and pulled and poked by its kitten almostbeyond endurance, and we have observed that the cat endured it meekly--nay, evidently rejoiced in the annoyance: it was pleasurable pain. Asit is with feline, so is it with human mothers. Their love overbearsand outweighs _everything_. Ah! good cause have the rugged males ofthis world to rejoice that such is the fact; and although they know itwell, we hold that it is calculated to improve the health and refreshthe spirit of men to have that fact brought prominently and pointedly totheir remembrance!
Had March Marston talked the most unutterable balderdash, widow Marstonwould have listened with unwearied delight as long, we believe, as hereyes and ears could do their duty. But March did _not_ talk balderdash.For a madman, he spoke a great deal of common, besides a considerableamount of uncommon sense, and his mother listened with intelligentinterest: commenting on what he said in her quiet way, as she foundopportunity--we say this advisedly, for opportunities were not sofrequent as one might suppose. March had always been possessed of aglib tongue, and he seemed, as Bounce remarked, to have oiled the hingessince his return to Pine Point settlement.
"Mother," said March, after a short pause that had succeeded anunusually long burst, "do you know it's only a few months since I leftyou to go to this trip to the mountains?"
"I know it well, my son," replied the widow, smiling at the question.
"And do you know," he continued, "that it seems to me more like fiveyears? When I think of all that I've heard and all that I've done, andall that I've seen, it seems to me as if it had took--as if it _must_have took--five years to have heard and done and seen it all in?"
"And yet," said the widow musingly, "you failed to see the Wild Man o'the West after all."
"Mother, I'll be angry with you if you say that again."
"Well, I won't," she replied, taking his hand in hers and stroking it."Tell me again, March, about Dick of the Cave and his little girl. Ilike to hear about them; they were so kind to you, and that Dick, fromyour account, seems to be such a fine fellow: tell me all about themover again."
"I will, mother," said March, clearing his throat, and commencing in atone that showed clearly his intention of going on indefinitely.
Widow Marston's cottage had a pretty, comfortable-looking flower gardenbehind it. In front the windows looked out upon a portion of the nativewoods which had been left standing when the spot for the settlement wasc
leared. In the back garden there was a bower which the widow'sbrother, the blacksmith, had erected, and the creepers on which had beenplanted by the widow's own hand when she was Mary West, the belle of thesettlement. In this bower, which was a capacious one, sat a number ofsedate, quiet, jolly, conversable fellows, nearly all of whom smoked,and one of whom sketched. They were our friends Redhand, Bounce, BigWaller, Gibault, Hawkswing, and Bertram.
It is observable among men who travel long in company together in a wildcountry, that, when they return again to civilised, or to semi-civilisedlife, they feel a strong inclination to draw closer together, eitherfrom the force of habit, or sympathy, or both. On reaching Pine Pointthe trappers, after visiting their friends and old chums, drew togetheragain as if by a species of electrical attraction. In whatever mannerthey chanced to spend their days, they--for the first week at least--found themselves trending gradually each evening a little before sunsetto a common centre.
Widow Marston was always at home. March Marston was always with hismother--deep in his long-winded yarns. The bower was always invitinglyopen in the back garden; hence the bower was the regular rendezvous ofthe trappers. It was a splendid evening that on which we now see themassembled there. The sun was just about to set in a flood of goldenclouds. Birds, wildfowl, and frogs held an uproarious concert in woodand swamp, and the autumnal foliage glowed richly in the slanting beamsas it hung motionless in the still atmosphere.
"D'ye know," said Redhand, removing his pipe for a few minutes andblowing aside the heavy wreaths of tobacco smoke that seemed unwillingto ascend and dissipate themselves--"d'ye know, now that this trip'sover, I'm inclined to think it's about the roughest one I've had formany a year? An' it's a cur'ous fact, that the rougher a trip is themore I like it."
Bertram, who was (as a matter of course) sketching, turned over a fewleaves and made a note of the observation.
"I guess it was pretty much of a meddlin' jolly one," said Big Waller,smoking enthusiastically, and with an expression of intense satisfactionon his weather-beaten countenance.
"An' profitable," observed Bounce gravely.
"Ah! oui, ver' prof'table," echoed Gibault. "Dat is de main ting. Wehave git plenty skins, an' have bring hom' our own skins, w'ich I wasnot moche sure of one or two times."
"True," said Bounce; "that's wot we've got for to be thankful for.Skins is skins; but the skin of a human ain't to be put in the balancewi' the skin o' a beaver, d'ye see?"
Bounce glanced at Hawkswing as he spoke, but the Indian only lookedstolid and smoked solemnly.
"Yes," he continued, "a whole skin's better nor a broken one, an' it'swell to bring back a whole one, though I'm not a-goin' for to deny thatthere's some advantage in bringing back other sorts o' skins too, d'yesee? w'ich goes for to prove the true feelosophy of the fact, d'yesee?--"
Bounce paused, in the midst of his mental energy, to take a parentheticwhiff. His thoughts, however, seemed too deep for utterance, for hesubsided quietly into a state of silent fumigation.
"What a splendidly picturesque scene!" exclaimed Bertram, pushing backhis brigandish hat in order the better to get a view, at arm's length,of his sketch and compare it with the original.
"Wot's the meanin' o' pikter-esk?" inquired Bounce. Theodore Bertramlooked and felt puzzled. He was not the first man who thought that heknew the signification of terms well, and found himself much perplexedon being suddenly called upon to give a correct definition of awell-known word. While he is labouring to enlighten his friend, weshall leave the bower and return to the hall, or kitchen, or receptionroom--for it might be appropriately designated by any of these terms--where March is, as usual, engaged in expounding backwoods life to hismother. We have only to pass through the open door and are with them atonce. Cottages in Pine Point settlement were of simple construction;the front door opened out of one side of the hall, the back door out ofthe other. As the weather was mild, both were wide open.
March had just reached an intensely interesting point in his narrative,and was describing, with flashing eyes and heightened colour, his firstinterview with the "Vision in Leather," when his attention was attractedby the sound of horses' hoofs coming at a rapid pace along the road thatled to the cottage. The wood above referred to hid any objectapproaching by the road until within fifty yards or so of the frontdoor.
"They seem in a hurry, whoever they be," said March, as he and hismother rose and hastened to the door, "an' there's more than one rider,if I've not forgot how to judge by sounds. I should say that there's--Hallo!"
The exclamation was not unnatural by any means, for at that moment avery remarkable horseman dashed round the point of the wood and gallopedtowards the cottage. Both man and horse were gigantic. The former woreno cap, and his voluminous brown locks floated wildly behind him. Onthey came with a heavy, thunderous tread, stones, sticks, and dustflying from the charger's heels. There was a rude paling in front ofthe cottage. The noble horse put its ears forward as it came up, tooktwo or three short strides, and went over with the light bound of adeer, showing that the strength of bone, muscle, and sinew was inproportion to the colossal size of the animal. The gravel inside thepaling flew like splashing water as they alighted with a crash, andwidow Marston, uttering a faint cry, shrank within the doorway as thewild horseman seemed about to launch himself, with Quixoticrecklessness, against the cottage.
"_Dick_!" shouted March, who stared like one thunderstruck as the riderleaped from the saddle to the ground, sprang with a single bound to thewidow's side, seized her right hand in both of his, and, stooping down,gazed intently into her alarmed countenance. Suddenly the blood rushedviolently to her temples, as the man pronounced her name in a low, deeptone, and with a look of wild surprise mingled with terror, sheexclaimed,--"Louis!"
The colour fled from her cheeks, and uttering a piercing cry, she fellforward on the breast of her long-lost lover.
March Marston stood for some time helpless; but he found his voice justas Redhand and the other trappers, rushing through the house, burst uponthe scene--"_Dick_!" shouted March again, in the highest pitch ofamazement.
"The Wild Man o' the West!" roared Bounce, with the expression of onewho believes he gazes on a ghost.
"Fetch a drop o' water, one o' you fellers," said the Wild Man, lookinganxiously at the pale-face that rested on his arm.
Every one darted off to obey, excepting Bertram, who, with eyes almoststarting out of their sockets, was already seated on the paling,sketching the scene; for he entertained an irresistible belief that theWild Man of the West would, as he had already done more than once,vanish from the spot before he could get him transferred to the pages ofhis immortal book.
Trappers are undoubtedly men who can act with vigorous promptitude intheir own peculiar sphere; but when out of that sphere, they are ratherclumsy and awkward. Had they been in the forest, each man would havefetched a draught of clear water from the nearest spring with the utmostcelerity; but, being in a settlement, they knew not where to turn. BigWaller dashed towards a very small pond which lay near the cottage, anddipping his cap into it, brought up a compound of diluted mud andchickweed. Gibault made an attempt on a tiny rivulet with the likesuccess, which was not surprising, seeing that its fountain-head lay atthe bottom of the said pond. Bounce and Hawkswing bolted into thecottage in search of the needful fluid; but, being unused to furniture,they upset three chairs and a small table in their haste, and scatteredon the floor a mass of crockery, with a crash that made them feel as ifthey had been the means of causing some dire domestic calamity, andwhich almost terrified the household kitten into fits.
Then Bounce made a hopeful grasp at a teapot, which, having happily beenplaced on a side table, had survived the wreck of its contemporary cupsand saucers, and the Indian made an insane effort to wrench the top offa butter-churn, in the belief that it contained a well-spring of water.
Of all the party old Redhand alone stood still, with his bald headglistening in the last rays of the sinkin
g sun, and his kindly facewrinkled all over with a sympathetic smile. He knew well that the youngwidow would soon recover, with or without the aid of water; so he smokedhis pipe complacently, leaned against the doorpost, and looked on.
He was right. In a few minutes Mrs Marston recovered, and was tenderlyled into the cottage by her old lover, Louis Thadwick, or, as we stillprefer to call him, the Wild Man of the West. There, seated by herside, in the midst of the wreck and debris of her household goods, theWild Man, quite regardless of appearances, began boldly to tell the sameold tale, and commit the same offence, that he told and committedupwards of sixteen years before, when _he_ was Louis the Trapper and_she_ was Mary West.
Seeing what was going forward, the judicious trappers and theenthusiastic artist considerately retired to the bower behind the house.What transpired at that strange interview no one can tell, for no onewas present except the kitten. That creature, having recovered from itsconsternation, discovered, to its inexpressible joy, that, an enormousjug having been smashed by Bounce along with the other things, the floorwas covered in part with a lakelet of rich cream. With almost closedeyes, intermittent purring, quick-lapping tongue, and occasionalindications of a tendency to choke, that fortunate animal revelled inthis unexpected flood of delectation, and listened to the conversation;but, not being gifted with the power of speech, it never divulged whatwas said--at least, to human ears, though we are by no means sure thatit did not create a considerable amount of talk among the cat populationof the settlement.
Be this as it may, when the Wild Man at length opened the door, andcried, "Come in, lads; it's all right!" they found the widow Marstonwith confusion and happiness beaming on her countenance, and the WildMan himself in a condition that fully justified Bounce's suggestion thatthey had better send for a strait-waistcoat or a pair of handcuffs. Asfor March, he had all along been, and still was, speechless. That theWild Man of the West was Dick, and Dick the Wild Man of the West, andthat both should come home at the same time in one body, and propose tomarry his mother, was past belief--so of course he didn't believe it.
"Hallo! wait a bit; I do b'lieve I was forgettin'," cried the Wild Man,springing up in his own violent, impulsive way, upsetting his chair (asa matter of course, being unused to such delicacies), dashing throughthe lake of cream to the all but annihilation of the kitten, opening thedoor, and giving vent to a shrill whistle.
All rushed out to witness the result. They were prepared for anythingnow--from a mad bison to a red warrior's ghost, and would have beenrather disappointed had anything feebler appeared.
Immediately there was a clatter of hoofs; a beautiful white ponygalloped round the corner of the wood, and made straight for thecottage. Seated thereon was the vision in leather--not seated as awoman sits, but after the fashion of her own adopted father, and havingon her leathern dress with a pair of long leggings highly ornamentedwith porcupine quills and bead work. The vision leaped the fence likeher father, bounded from her pony as he had done, and rushed into theWild Man's arms, exclaiming, "Be she here, an' well, dear fader?"
"Ay, all right," he replied; but he had no time to say more, for at thatmoment March Marston darted at the vision, seized one of her hands, puthis arm round her waist, and swung her, rather than led her, into hismother's presence.
"Here's Mary, mother!" cried March with a very howl of delight.
The widow had already guessed it. She rose and extended her arms. Marygazed for one moment eagerly at her and then rushed into them. Turningsharp round, March threw his arms round Bounce's neck and embraced himfor want of a better subject; then hurling him aside he gave anothershout, and began to dance a violent hornpipe on the floor, to the stillfurther horrification of the kitten (which was now a feline maniac), andthe general scatteration of the mingled mass of crockery and cream.Seeing this, Bounce uttered a hysterical cheer. Hawkswing, beingexcited beyond even savage endurance, drew his scalping-knife, yelledthe war-cry and burst into the war-dance of the Seneca Indians. Inshort, the widow's cottage became the theatre of a scene that would havedone credit to the violent wards of a lunatic asylum--a scene, which isutterly beyond the delineative powers of pen or pencil--a scene whichdefies description, repudiates adequate conception, and will dwell forever on the memories of those who took part in it like the wildphantasmagoria of a tremendous dream!
Of course, a wild man could not be induced, like an ordinary mortal, towait a reasonable time in order to give his bride an opportunity ofpreparing her trousseau. He was a self-willed man, and a man of astrong mind. He insisted upon being married "out of hand, and have donewith it." So he _was_ married--whether "out of hand" or not we cannottell--by the excellent clergyman of Pine Point settlement. On the sameday, and the same hour, March Marston was married--"out of hand," also,no doubt--to the vision in leather!
There was something rather precipitate in these proceedings,unquestionably; but those who feel disposed to object to them must bearin mind, first, that backwoodsmen are addicted to precipitancy at times;and, secondly, that facts cannot be altered in order to please thefastidious taste of the so-called civilised world.
Public opinion in the settlement was strongly in favour of the doings ofthe Wild Man of the West. Delay was deemed by all to be unnecessary,and all the more so that the double wedding-day was to be celebrated asa species of public event.
The romance connected with the previous life of Dick, and especially hissingular and unexpected return to his first love, created quite asensation, even in a region in which wild deeds and wonderful eventswere so common that it required a man to be a real hero to enable him torise conspicuous above his fellows. Many trappers came in from aconsiderable distance to take part in the rejoicings of that day, andfrom the dance which followed the ceremony there was not absent a livingcreature belonging to the settlement.
Every dog was there, of course, adding its vocal melody to the dulcettones of the blacksmith's violin. Even the cats of the settlement werepresent, including that celebrated kitten which had been reduced to astate of drivelling imbecility by the furious advent of the Wild Man.Owls and other sagacious birds also came from afar to see the fun,attracted by the light of the fire; for the ballroom was the green swardof the forest, which was illuminated for the occasion by a bonfire thatwould have roasted a megatherium whole, and also would have furnishedaccommodation for a pot large enough to boil an elephant. Don't think,reader, in the vanity of your heart, that you have conceived that fire!You have not, as a Yankee would say, the most distant conception of thesmall end of a notion of what it was! A hundred brawny arms, accustomedto wield the broad axe, had lent their aid to rear the mighty pile andfeed the ravening flame.
It was kindled on a wide level plot in the outskirts of the settlement,around which the trees spread their sheltering arms. On a plank raisedon two casks sat the blacksmith with his fiddle. The carpenter satbeside him with a kettledrum, more literally a kettledrum even than thereal thing, for that drum _was_ a kettle! On a little mound that rosein the centre of the plot sat, in state, Dick and Mary, March and thevision in leather, their respective thrones being empty flour-casks.Around them danced the youth and beauty of the settlement. These wereenclosed by a dense circle, composed of patriarchal, middle-aged, andextremely juvenile admirers. The background of the picture was filledup with the monstrous fire which saturated that spot in the forest withlight--bright as the broadest day. The extreme foreground was composedof the trunk of a fallen tree, on which sat our friend the artist,delineating the whole with the eagerness of an enthusiast who had _atlast_ fallen upon a scene truly worthy of his genius.
How Bounce did dance, to be sure! How the young trappers and theblooming backwoods maidens did whirl and bound, on heel and toe, and, toa large extent, on the whole sole of the foot! Yes, their souls were inthe work, and their spirits too; and that although there was not a dropof spirits in the settlement. Happily, owing to the unaccountable delayof a provision boat, there was not a glass of "fire-water" in the
placeat that time. The whole affair was got up, carried on, and concluded ontea. It was a great teetotal gathering, which would have drawn tears ofjoy from the heart of Father Mathew and all his successors, whetherRomanist or Protestant, had they witnessed it.
Yet the excitement was tremendous. The Wild Man of the West, strange tosay, and, owing to some peculiar contradictoriness of character whichwas unaccountable, was almost the only sane man of the whole party. Heflung himself on the ground beside his wife, and locking his arm roundthe tough root of a pine tree refused to budge from the spot. As theunited efforts of all the men who could lay hold of him at one timefailed to root him up, he was suffered to lie there and amuse himself bywatching the dancers, looking up occasionally at Mary's blue eyes, andplaying with such of the juveniles as he could attract within the reachof his long arm.
As for March Marston, he was mad now if ever he had been so in his life!He danced with all the girls, and wrestled with all the men, and playedhide-and-seek with all the boys, and fraternised with all the oldpeople, and chased all the dogs, and astonished, not to say horrified,all the cats. Yet, although he did all this, he did not neglect thevision in leather, by no manner of means.
Long before the dawn of early morning that jovial party drank a partingcup of cold tea, and, dispersing to their several homes, left the fieldin possession of the village curs.
Now, dear reader--with a feeling of sadness we write it--all things musthave an end! We make this unquestionable assertion in order to break toyou, as gently as may be, the news that our tale has reached its close.Had we taken in hand to write the life and adventures of our hero andhis friends from first to last, we should have had to prepare pens, ink,and paper, for a work equal in size to the "Encyclopaedia Britannica."We have only detailed one or two episodes in their wild career. Whatthey did and said and saw in after years must be left to futurehistorians, or to the imagination of romantic readers. This only willwe say in conclusion, that of all the men who dwelt in Pine Pointsettlement, for many years after the events narrated in these pages, thekindest, the wisest, the gentlest, the heartiest, the wildest, and themost courageous was--the Wild Man of the West.
THE END.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends