Title: Ti-Ti-Pu - A Boy of Red River
Author: Oxley, J. Macdonald (James Macdonald), 1855-1907
Language: English
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[Frontispiece: A BIG BLACK BEAR MADE FURIOUS EFFORTS TO SEIZE DOUR AND
DANDY.  _See page 19_.]



TI-TI-PU

A BOY OF RED RIVER


BY

J. MACDONALD OXLEY

Author of 'Standing the Test,' etc.



TORONTO

THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED

1900



CONTENTS


CHAP.

    I.  FROM THE OLD WORLD TO THE NEW
   II.  AT ODDS WITH BRUIN
  III.  A COLD PLUNGE
   IV.  HECTOR ENTRAPPED
    V.  THE SEARCH FOR HECTOR
   VI.  ORDERED OFF
  VII.  HOW HECTOR GOT HIS NICKNAME
 VIII.  ON THE MOVE AGAIN
   IX.  THE BUFFALO HUNT
    X.  LOST ON THE PRAIRIE
   XI.  THE LOSING AND FINDING OF AILIE
  XII.  THE MOOSE HUNT



TI-TI-PU

A Boy of Red River


CHAPTER I

From the Old World to the New

This is how it befell.  Thomas Douglas, Earl of Selkirk, thought that a
flourishing colony right in the midst of the rich hunting-grounds of
the Hudson's Bay Company, in which he was interested, would prove no
less a benefit to the natives than an excellent thing for the
colonists.  Accordingly, he busied himself in persuading a number of
his fellow-countrymen to leave their hillside farms, and, with their
families, voyage to the unknown wilds of the New World.

Among those whose courage was equal to this enterprise was Andrew
Macrae, accompanied by his good wife, Kirstie, his sturdy son, Hector,
then just on the edge of his teens, his bonnie wee daughter, Ailie, and
his two splendid sheep dogs, Dour and Dandy.

The dogs' names were not given them at random.  They just fitted their
natures.  A more serious creature than Dour surely never stood upon
four legs.  He bore himself as if he were responsible, not merely for
the occupants of the sheep-cote, but also of the cottage as well.  He
was never known to frisk or gambol, or to bark without due cause.

Dandy was the very opposite, as black as a raven, save for a superb
snow-white shirt-front, which he managed to keep marvellously clean,
and a few touches of golden-brown on his shapely head.  He was only a
little slighter than Dour, and as lively and frolicsome as the other
was impassive.  Although not quite the equal of Dour, Dandy was an
excellent sheep dog, too, and many a cotter envied Andrew the
possession of the two fine creatures.

Hector loved both dogs dearly, albeit he stood a trifle in awe of Dour.
The dogs were as much members of the family as Ailie and himself.  He
would have shared his last bit of bannock or sup of 'parritch' with
either of them, and they fully returned his affection, each in his own
way.

Hector was a 'braw laddie,' in very sooth.  From his father, he got the
straightness and strength of body, the deftness of hand and foot, and
the rapidity of thought that made him an unquestioned leader among his
playfellows, and from his mother the light, crisp hair, the laughing
blue eyes, and the happy turn of speech that made the other boys love
as well as obey him.

He stood in much awe of his father, who was as strict as he was just,
but his mother had his whole heart, and many a time did he go to her
for comfort, when reproved by Andrew for some little bit of
heedlessness.

With little Ailie, a dark-eyed, dark-haired sprite, not like either
parent, to protect and pet, the Macraes made up a notably happy family
group, and were the recipients of many attentions from their fellow
passengers, on the long voyage on a slow sailing ship to the bleak
shores of Hudson's Bay.

That voyage out proved far from being a pleasant holiday.  Cooped up in
an over-loaded vessel, whose accommodation was scant at best, fed upon
pork and beef that was salter than the sea itself, and hard biscuits
that became alive with weevils ere the ship reached its destination,
all the colonists suffered more or less severely.  It spoke well for
the stamina of the Macraes that they bore the privations of the passage
better than the majority, and landed at York Factory in fairly good
trim.

'Eh, but glad I am to put my feet upon the solid ground again!'
exclaimed Andrew Macrae, with heartfelt emphasis, as he sprang out of
the boat and strode up the beach, and, in so saying, he spoke for every
one on board the vessel.

Hector's legs wobbled under him in so absurd a fashion that he tumbled
over several times in his first attempt at running, and even Dour and
Dandy, for a little, seemed hardly to understand that they were free to
bound away in any direction they pleased.

But presently all the colonists were landed, and, having been kindly
welcomed by the Hudson's Bay Company's employees at York Factory, made
haste to bestow themselves as best they might among the buildings of
the fort.

The Macraes were fortunate in getting a snug room to themselves, and
there, with their two children and faithful dogs, they settled down to
await the beginning of the next stage of their long journey.

On the following morning, Hector, accompanied by Ailie, and having Dour
and Dandy, went down to the beach, where there was much going on to
entertain them.

The sailors were busy unloading the vessel of her very miscellaneous
cargo, comprising tea and tobacco, sugar and salt, blankets and
muskets, knives, hatchets, and all the varied articles required for
provisioning the forts, or trading with the Indians, while Indians and
half-breeds lounged near by, watching them with half-contemptuous
interest.  The Hudson's Bay officials moved briskly about, giving sharp
orders, and, in and among them everywhere, were dogs of all ages and
sizes, but alike in resembling wolves or foxes, for the Huskie breed
was predominant.

The sheep dogs made no attempt to find favour with the others.  On the
contrary, they kept close to Hector, their gleaming eyes, curling lips,
and bristling necks expressing in the clearest way what they thought of
their new acquaintances.  The latter were not long in showing their
feelings in the matter.  No sooner did the collies draw near them than
they rushed to meet them, snarling and growling so ferociously that
Hector began to feel a little alarmed, while Ailie shrank closer to
him, clasping his hand tightly in hers, and murmuring: 'I'm frightened.
They'll bite us.'  'They won't dare to,' responded Hector bravely,
albeit his heart was thumping at a lively rate.  'I'll drive them off
with my stick,' and he flourished gallantly a slender cudgel that he
had picked up at the gate of the fort.

But the graceless Huskies had small respect for a stick when not in the
hands of a man, and they closed in about the little group in a very
menacing way.  At last they got so close that Dour and Dandy, in their
love and loyalty to the two children, could restrain themselves no
longer, and, at the same moment, they flew at the throats of the two
foremost assailants.

Instantly, there was a terrific uproar, the dogs barking and wrangling
furiously, Hector shouting: 'Away, you brutes!' while he laid his stick
stoutly upon the backs and heads of the Huskies, and poor little Ailie
shrieked pitifully at what she believed to be the imminent peril of all
four.

The collies fought superbly.  Fearfully outnumbered as they were, their
superior sagacity and speed of movement for a while enabled them to
hold their own.  Keeping close together in front of the children, they
struck to right and left with their keen white fangs, slashing the
Huskies on head and shoulder, so that one after another slunk away,
howling dolefully.

But for each one thus driven off, two others rushed to the attack, and,
in spite of the splendid play Hector made with his stick, at the risk
of being badly bitten himself, the issue must have gone hard against
the gallant collies, for the Huskies would not have stopped until they
had torn them to pieces.  But, in the nick of time, a stalwart figure
came charging down the beach with mighty strides.

Into the thick of the melee plunged Andrew Macrae, using, with
unsparing energy, not only his heavily booted feet, but his tightly
clenched fists.  On this side and that fell his tremendous blows, and
every one meant a disabled or disheartened dog, until, presently, the
whole pack had fled out of reach, and the wrathful Scotsman stood
panting but triumphant, Ailie clinging sobbingly to one knee, and
Hector standing breathless at the other, while Dour and Dandy, after a
brief greeting, made haste to take stock of themselves, and see what
damage they had suffered at the teeth of the evil-tempered Huskies.



CHAPTER II

At Odds with Bruin

'Ech, bairns!' exclaimed Andrew, putting a calming hand upon the head
of each of the agitated children, 'but they're an ill lot of curs to
set upon ye in that unmannerly fashion.  I'm richt glad I heard the row
they were making, and thocht that maybe Dour and Dandy might be glad o'
my help.  I'm sore mistaken if those snarling beasts,' and he indicated
with a sweep of his hand the Huskies now hovering at a respectful
distance, 'will be ettlin' to feel my foot verra soon.  They're nae
fules, though they don't know how to be decent to strangers.'

By this time Ailie's tears were stayed, and Hector had recovered his
wind, so they continued along the beach, the collies keeping close to
Andrew's heels, giving vent to triumphant little growls whenever a
Huskie ventured within earshot.

As the sailing vessel had to lie out in the deep water, her cargo was
being brought ashore in big boats, with high bows and sterns that could
each carry a wonderful load.  The process of discharging interested all
the little party, and they were standing watching it, when one of their
fellow-travellers came up, and, pointing to the boats, said: 'It's in
those barkies that we're going to the Red River.  I canna say I like
the look of them ower much.  They're right clumsy things, in my
opinion.'

Before Andrew could make reply, Hector broke in with an eager 'Oh, are
we truly going on those boats?  Eh, but that will be fine!--won't it,
Ailie?'  And he gave his sister a hearty hug, just by way of expressing
his joy.

His father smiled with grave indulgence.  'I would think ye'd had mair
than enough of the water for a spell, laddie.  I wonder ye're so eager
to take to it again.'

'Eh, but that was in a big ship, father,' responded Hector, defending
himself, 'and a boat will be different, and we will go along the river
instead of on the ocean.'

'We'll see, we'll see,' said Andrew, sagely, 'the river may not be sae
guid to us as you think.'

As the season was slipping by, and as it was important for the settlers
to reach their destination in good time before the long winter came,
the preparations for the remainder of the journey were hurried as much
as possible.

Yet there seemed so much to be done, that September was at hand ere the
little brigade of 'York boats,' with their precious freight of humanity
and goods, hoisted their big sails, and moved slowly off up the river,
amid a parting volley of cheers and good wishes from the people of York
Factory, many of whom would have been glad enough to accompany them.

Hector was in the highest spirits.  This method of travelling was
altogether to his liking: no longer the cramping confinement of the
sailing-ship, but the freedom of the roomy boat; no more tumbling about
among the rude billows, but smooth gliding on the bosom of the river;
no dreary waste of chill, gray water, but on either hand the
well-wooded banks glowed with varied colour, the light yellow of the
fading poplar contrasting with the dark evergreen of the spruce, while
the willows of an intermediate hue seemed to shade the two tints into
each other.  Here and there the bright purple of the dogwood, the
sombre brown of the dwarf birch, and the gay yellow of the shrubby
cinquefoil gave richer notes of colour, while, to the keen-eyed,
restless boy, there was ever the hope of some wild animal--a fox, a
deer, or perhaps even a bear--being sighted as they advanced.

It was not all plain sailing, however.  In some places, the current was
so strong that it became necessary to resort to tracking.  Only the
women and children remained in the boat, while the men, taking hold of
a line fastened to the foot of the mast, tugged and toiled along the
river bank, one-half their number working at a time, and then being
relieved by the other; thus dragging the clumsy craft forward at the
rate of about two miles an hour.

Andrew Macrae did not shirk his share of the hard work, but of course
Hector was not expected to join the trackers, and so, accompanied by
Dour and Dandy, he scampered freely along the top of the bank, being
bidden by his father not to roam out of sight.

For some time he obeyed this injunction implicitly.  But, on towards
mid-day, the collies caught a glimpse of something that caused them to
dart off into the woods, barking furiously.  Carried away by
excitement, Hector followed them, running at top speed straight away
from the river.

He could easily hear the dogs when he could not see them, and so,
recking nothing of what might happen, he raced after them, until
presently the change in their barking announced that whatever animal it
was they had been chasing, they had brought it to bay.

A moment later, he came out into a little glade at the farther side of
which a big black bear stood upon its hind legs, in front of a great
tree, and made furious efforts to seize Dour and Dandy with its
forepaws, or to deal them such buffets that they would never bark again.

It was a thrilling spectacle for the most experienced hunter, but for
Hector, who had never seen any kind of a bear before, and whose
generous heart was at once filled with anxiety for the dogs that were
so dear to him, it simply made him forget himself entirely.

Rushing forward, he shouted: 'Leave them alone, you brute!  Don't you
hurt my dogs!'

Considering that the dogs must have started the row, by finding the
bear in the first instance, this was rather unfair to Bruin.  But
Hector had no thought for the exact justice of the case.  His one
concern was for the dogs.

He had picked up a stout stick in the course of his ramble, and this he
now swung above his head in threatening fashion, little knowing that,
if he should venture within striking distance, the bear would not only
parry his blow, but knock his ineffective cudgel out of his grasp as
easily as though it were a feather.

Still shouting he hardly knew what, the fearless boy ran right up to
the combatant and, so engrossed was Bruin with his two lively
assailants, that he did not notice his coming until he was within a
couple of paces of him.

Then he caught sight of his two-legged enemy, stared at him for a
moment with manifest amazement, let forth an ominous growl, and,
dropping upon all fours, made straight for him with open mouth.

Well was it for Hector that Dour and Dandy were not less strong than
they were active and brave.  They sprang upon the bear, one at either
side of his head, and before he could shake himself free, Hector, not
needing to be told that his only safety was in flight, had darted off
at the top of his speed in the direction of the river.

In hot pursuit, the bear followed, with the dauntless dogs hanging to
his flanks and greatly impeding his movements.  Otherwise, clumsy
creature though he seemed, he would soon have overhauled his quarry.

Happily, Hector was no less sure than he was swift of foot.  There are
few smooth places in the Highlands, and he had learned to race over the
roughest ground without a stumble.

On he went, exulting in his own speed, even though deeply concerned for
his own safety, and after him lumbered the bear, as fast as the
faithful dogs would suffer him to move.  Yet, hindered and harried as
he was, Bruin steadily gained on the boy, as the latter could not help
noticing.  'I maun climb a tree!' he panted.  'The creature will na get
me there.  Eh, that's a grand tree yonder.  I'll rin for it.'

Changing his course slightly, Hector made for a stately pine that held
out welcoming branches at a friendly height from the ground.  If he
could reach it and spring into them, he would be able to laugh at his
fierce pursuer's futile efforts to reach him.  Summoning all his fast
waning strength for a supreme effort, he dashed towards the tree.



CHAPTER III

A Cold Plunge

Hector had all but reached the pine.  In fact, one more stride would
have brought him to its trunk, when his right foot slipped upon one of
the outspreading roots, hidden under a carpet of smooth brown needles,
and he pitched forward, narrowly escaping striking his head against the
massive trunk.

He was little hurt by the fall, but he was very much dazed, and the
bear might have had him in its deadly hug ere he could have recovered
himself, had not a new actor appeared upon the scene.  The boats had
come to a halt to rest the men just about the time that Hector ran off
after the dogs, and Andrew Macrae, noting the boy's disappearance,
snatched up a gun and climbed the river-bank to see what had become of
him.

'He's na here,' he exclaimed in surprise, as he stood looking all about
him.  'Where can the feckless bairn ha' gone to?'

Just then his keen ears, trained not to miss the slightest sound,
caught faintly the sharp barking of the two dogs.  'Eh! eh!' he
muttered.  'They've started up some creature--maybe a squirrel or the
like.  I'll just run and see what they're doing.'

So, gun in hand, he set off at a long easy lope that was little slower
than a horse's trot.  As the barking came more strongly to his ears, he
realized that something serious was taking place, and quickened his
pace, until he had reached the limit of his powers.

But a few minutes of such exertion were required to bring him to the
scene of action, and swinging around the pine tree, he arrived at the
very crisis of his son's peril.

Throwing the gun to his shoulder, and not waiting to take careful aim,
he fired just as the great black brute reared to strike at Hector.  The
whole charge of heavy buckshot took effect full in the bear's breast,
and down he pitched almost upon Hector, but incapable of further harm.

Mr. Macrae's feelings were so mixed that he hardly knew how to express
himself.  He had been angry with Hector for straying away from the
river-bank, but now he was naturally hugely proud of his own success as
a bear killer, and this rose superior to his anger.  Raising Hector to
his feet, he said, mildly enough: 'Ye didna heed ma word, laddie,' and
then added with swelling voice, 'eh, but it's a grand creature!  Rin
now to the boat, and tell the men to come and help me with it.  I canna
carry it back alone.'

Relieved beyond expression at his escape from the bear, and from his
father's deserved reproof, Hector darted off, and presently returned
with several of the men, who were all greatly interested in the big
game Andrew Macrae had bagged.

Andrew was anxious that his 'gude wife' should see his noble prize,
before it was skinned, and so he persuaded the men to help him take it
down to the river.

The little party made quite a triumphal procession, with Hector proudly
leading the way, the four strong men bending beneath the weight of
their trophy, and the two dogs frisking and barking about them,
evidently quite aware of the important part they had played in the
business.

Of course, Hector's mother both scolded and coddled him, and little
Ailie gazed with startled eyes at the motionless monster, and Dour and
Dandy came in for unlimited praise and patting, which they accepted
with their wonted dignity.  Among the boatmen were those who knew
exactly what to do with the bear, which was in superb condition, and
the splendid skin having been carefully removed, the best part of the
meat was saved to provide juicy steaks and cutlets for the travellers'
table.

From the Hayes River, the boats turned into the Stool, and then into
the Fox River, and later into the Hill River, which was the most rapid
of all, and very difficult to work up against its opposing currents.

One of the worst places was Rock Portage, where the river, pent in by a
range of small islands, formed several cascades, none of which could be
ascended by the laden boats.  It was, therefore, necessary to take out
all the cargo, portage it across one of the islands, and then, by dint
of tremendous toil, drag the big boat across the island, and launch it
again above the cascade.

This sort of thing went on day after day, until at last, to the
infinite relief of the tired toilers, they reached Oxford House, an
important post of the Hudson's Bay Company, where a rest of several
days was allowed for them to recuperate.

During all this toilsome progress, Hector never had a dull moment.  He
helped whenever he could, and when not required for this, found plenty
to occupy his attention.  He was the best of brothers to Ailie, taking
her to play upon the bank, picking flowers for her, and pointing out
the birds in the trees, and the tiny creatures that rustled through the
dry grass.  Often his mother would join in these little rambles, and
then Hector's happiness was complete.  He felt himself the man of the
party, and assumed an air of importance that greatly tickled his
shrewd, fond mother.

The halt at Oxford House was enjoyed by everybody.  Here both ducks and
trout were to be had in plenty and most of the men went either shooting
or fishing.  Andrew Macrae preferred the former, and, having succeeded
in securing the loan of a canoe, with a half-breed to paddle it, took
Hector off with him for a day's sport.

The weather was favourable, and Cross-Eye, the half-breed, who got the
name from his eyes being on the bias, promised them plenty of ducks.
They paddled up the lake for several miles until they came to a kind of
enclosed bay, whose shores were lined with a thick growth of underbrush.

'In there we go,' said Cross-Eye, in his queer guttural tone, and the
canoe was directed to a good landing-place.  'Hide him,' grunted the
half-breed, and the light craft was lifted out of the water, and
concealed among the trees.

They next proceeded to put themselves out of sight, there to patiently
wait the appearance of the ducks.  Mr. Macrae and Cross-Eye settled
down comfortably.  Not so Hector.  He had absolutely nothing to do but
search the sky for the black specks that would grow into the toothsome
birds they sought, and, as none of these were visible, he naturally
grew restless.  He fired questions at Cross-Eye, in spite of the
taciturn half-breed's surly responses, and he bothered his father with
proposals to do this or that, none of which were approved.

At last he gave a cry of delight, at the same moment that Cross-Eye
grunted in a relieved way.  Far to the west, a thin black line showed
faintly above the horizon, and rapidly grew more distinct.  The ducks
were coming at last.

Crouching close to the ground, and hardly breathing in their
excitement, the three hunters awaited their approach.  When the orderly
array of winged _voyageurs_ had come within reach of the sound,
Cross-Eye proceeded to imitate their cries with a marvellous fidelity.

Hector was amazed at the sounds which issued from him.  They were so
perfectly bird-like.

Instead of flying over, the ducks hesitated, returned the cries that
attracted their attention, and then, with much flapping of wings,
dropped down upon the still surface of the little bay, right in front
of their hidden enemy.  The moment they were well within range, at a
signal from Cross-Eye, the report of two guns rang out like one, and
two ducks gave their last quack.

With wonderful quickness the half-breed had the canoe launched, but
Hector was no less quick in springing into it, and off they went after
the birds.  A few powerful strokes brought them to where they lay upon
the water.

'You get them,' grunted Cross-Eye, as he held the canoe steady, and
Hector leaned over the side to pick up the ducks.  It was not a
difficult thing to do, but the sudden excitement after the wearisome
waiting had flustered him.  He was so eager to do his share of the work
that he overdid it, and upset the canoe, throwing the half-breed and
himself into the water.

Now there was nothing of the hero in Cross-Eye.  He was both angry with
Hector for his awkwardness, and alarmed about his own safety.  So,
without one thought of the boy, he made for the shore as fast as he
could, in spite of Mr. Macrae's indignant appeals to him to help Hector.

As for the latter, he had not been born and bred beside a Scottish loch
without learning to swim.  Indeed, neither Dour nor Dandy could get
faster through the water.  But the ice-cold lake into which he had been
so suddenly plunged was a different thing from the sunny loch in
summer-time.

Before he had taken a dozen strokes towards the shore, the deadly chill
laid hold upon him, and numbed his arms and legs until he could scarce
keep his head above water.  Indeed it did go under once, the water
smothering the cry for help that his peril had wrung from him, ere his
father, throwing off his coat, plunged in to his rescue.



CHAPTER IV

Hector Entrapped

Before Mr. Macrae had reached Hector, he, too, felt the paralysing
effect of the glacial water.  But he was a man of enormous strength,
and, wallowing through it like a whale, grasped the boy firmly with his
left hand, while he struck out for the canoe, which rocked upon the
water in supreme indifference to their struggles for life.

'Keep up, laddie, keep up,' he panted.  'I'll get ye safe ashore.'
Reaching the canoe, he drew down the side until Hector could seize it
with his stiffening hands.  'Noo, then, laddie, ye'll just haud on
there, and I'll push the thing to the land.'

Hector held on with the strength that his terror gave him, and Mr.
Macrae, grasping the canoe at the other side, pushed it through the
water with all his might.

In this fashion they made the shore, where Cross-Eye stood shivering
and glowering at them.  Mr. Macrae's first impulse was to warm his skin
pretty thoroughly for his cowardly desertion of the boy.  But before
his hand fell, he checked himself, saying: 'Ye feckless loon!--ye ken
nae better, nae doubt.  Yer only thought was for yer ainsel'.  Well,
we'll say nae mair.  Come, let's make a fire and dry our things.'

The half-breed, who had evidently expected some rough usage, looked
immensely relieved at the quick turn of affairs, and set himself to the
building of a big blaze, with such skill and energy, that the chilled
duck-hunters were presently basking in its welcome warmth.

As soon as their clothes were dried, they recovered the ducks, which
were still floating on the water, and then hid themselves to await
another flock.  Their patience was rewarded by the securing of some
half-dozen more.  Then, feeling well content with the day's bag, they
paddled back to Oxford House.

A few days later, the boats resumed their journey, crossing Holey Lake,
ascending a little river to Hell Gate--a very difficult place to
pass--and so on by way of Echenamis, and Sea River, and across the Play
Green Lakes, to Norway House at the north end of Lake Winnipeg.

Here all difficulties with rocks and rapids ended--the exhausting
labours of the portage were over.  With broad sails hoisted to the
wind, the big boats ploughed through the turbid waters of the shallow
lake, traversing it from north to south, and without any mishap,
reached the end of their voyage.  The colonists, heartily weary of
being cooped up in the boats so long, were only too glad to be put out
upon the solid land.

They were now actually in the Red River country, for which they had
ventured so much, and it was with eager, anxious eyes that they looked
about them.

The Red River itself constituted the central feature of the landscape.
Having its source in the elevated land some hundreds of miles away, it
flowed in a muddy, sluggish fashion into Lake Winnipeg.  On its west
side the country was one boundless level plain of rich, deep loam,
whose fertility would presently amaze the newcomers, accustomed to the
grudging, niggardly soil of their native land.  On the east the scene
was more varied with hill and dale, and skirted at no great distance by
what were called the pine hills, covered with timber, and running
parallel to the river all the way.

'The gude God be thankit!' ejaculated Andrew Macrae, as his keen gray
eyes surveyed the fair prospect, all glowing beneath the splendour of
an unclouded sky, and, removing his bonnet, he offered a brief yet
fervent thanksgiving.  'Eh! but it's a fine land!' he continued.  'Why,
ye scarce can see a stane on it, and where there are sae mony flowers,
there'll be nae lack o' fat crops in the comin' year.'

Thus speaking, Andrew gave voice to the first impression of all the
men, while the women, with glad eyes, noted the soft beauty of the
country, and said to one another that it was a bonnie place, and they
were glad they had come to it.

As for the children, they could hardly contain themselves.  The thick,
soft grass in which they could roll and tumble without let or hindrance
was a pure delight to them.  Oh, what a romp they and the dogs did
have! and how heartily Hector and Ailie entered into the merriment!

There were somewhat primitive carts to carry the heavy baggage, but the
colonists all had to walk; and it was, consequently, at no hurried rate
of progress, that they moved southward to their final destination.

It was in the beginning of October that the weary, travel-worn
colonists, with their families and possessions, reached the tract of
land beside the Red River which their lordly patron had selected for
their settlement.

Their very first proceeding was to gather together and offer thanks to
God, for His providential care of them through all the perils of the
long journey.  Never before had the clear sweet air of the prairie been
stirred by the strains of sacred song, and, as the solemn beautiful
music of the Psalms rose heavenward, there hurried to the wondrous
novelty a motley crowd of fur hunters, half-breeds, and Indians, who
remained to listen in gaping curiosity, if not in reverent
appreciation, to Andrew Macrae's dignified reading from 'the Book,' and
to the lengthy prayers that followed from other men of the party.

The instant the praise service was concluded, Hector, accompanied by
Dour and Dandy, started out to inspect their new home.  The boy was in
high spirits, which his four-footed friends shared.  At least, Dandy
did, for he frisked and barked with great vim, thereby attracting the
attention of the suspicious, snarling curs that belonged to the
residents, who had never seen so handsome a member of their race
before.  Dour bore himself with more dignity, yet it was evident that
he understood that they had arrived at the end of their tiresome
travelling, and that he rejoiced thereat.

Naturally Hector turned his steps towards the fort, which was the most
conspicuous feature of the scene.  This did not belong to the Hudson's
Bay Company, but to their bitter rivals, the North-West Fur Company,
and, had the boy only known, was the stronghold of those who were to
give the settlers many miserable days.

It was not a very imposing affair, simply a stout stockade in the form
of a square, having one gate protected by short towers, and enclosing a
cluster of buildings, only one storey in height, built in the same
rough fashion.

Hector, drawing near the gate, which stood wide open, looked curiously
in.  The whole thing was entirely novel to him, and, boy-like, he
greatly longed to understand it.  Dour and Dandy, feeling ill at ease
now, kept very close to him.  They did not altogether like the look of
things, and would have preferred retracing their steps, but of course
they had not the slightest notion of deserting their young master.

As Hector stood hesitating, a young man, coming from the interior,
beckoned to him in a friendly fashion, saying: 'You want come in.  All
right, you come.'  He was clearly a half-breed, and had a dark, evil
face that was far from prepossessing.

Hector instinctively disliked him, but could not very well refuse his
invitation, even though the shrewd collies sniffed so suspiciously at
his legs that the fellow shrank away lest they should bite him.  'Nice
place, eh?' he asked, with a sly ingratiating smile.  'Plenty good furs
in there,' and he pointed, with a very dirty finger, to the largest of
the buildings.  'You stranger, yes?  Come I show you the store.'

Hector had a premonition of trouble, but was not sufficiently
strong-minded to beat a retreat, as he should have done.  The
half-breed certainly seemed courteous, even if the expression of his
face were sinister.

Following his guide, the lad entered the trade-house, which contained
the goods used in bartering with the Indians for their furs, and was
astonished at the quantity and variety of the stock displayed.  Here
were guns, pistols, knives, hatchets, blankets, shirts, caps, mitts,
tobacco, tea, sugar, smoked and salted meats, handkerchiefs, sashes,
snowshoes, moccasins, coats and trousers, and so on, piled upon the
floor according to a rude, but no doubt effective system.

'Plenty goods here, eh?' said the half breed, with a crafty leer, as if
his object were to arouse the boy's envy.  'Company very rich--very
strong--have many forts all about'--and with a sweep of his arms he
indicated a wide stretch of territory.  Hector certainly was much
impressed by what he saw, and felt free to say so, whereat his guide
seemed much gratified.

'Come now see furs--oh! fine furs!' he cried, and, taking hold of
Hector's arm, led him off to another building, even more solidly built
than the trade-house.  A single door was both the means of admittance
and of lighting the place.  Inside were ranged bales of furs, the pelts
of marten, mink, otter, bear, fox, wolf, and beaver, which had been
trapped by Indians and half-breeds in far-away places, and brought in
to exchange for the goods they coveted.

Some of the skins were loose, and the half-breed drew Hector's
attention to a particularly fine blue fox, which he explained was worth
'heap money.'  Hector was examining this, passing his hand over the
soft, rich fur, when suddenly he was tripped and thrown upon the floor
by his scoundrelly guide, who, before the boy could regain his feet,
dashed out of the door and slammed it shut, setting the great bar
across it.

In perfect darkness and bewilderment, Hector picked himself up.  Can
you blame the poor lad if his first feeling was something very like
panic-stricken terror?  He had been taken so completely by surprise,
and felt so utterly helpless.  Through the thick door, he could hear
the angry barking of Dour and Dandy, who were evidently defending
themselves against assailants of some kind, and he shouted with all his
might: 'Help!  Help!  Let me out!  Let me out!'



CHAPTER V

The Search for Hector

Again and again Hector cried out for help and deliverance from his
prison, but, even had there been any one near, they could hardly have
heard him through the thick walls and solid door of the fur-house.

Pressing his ear against the join of the door, he heard the fierce
barking of the collies growing fainter and fainter, until presently he
heard it no more.  Evidently they had been dragged off by the
half-breed, and confined somewhere.

The truth of the matter was that, to the dogs, Hector owed the alarming
situation in which he found himself.  While he hung about the gate of
the fort, the half-breed had noticed the splendid creatures, and, at
once coveting them, set about getting them into his possession.
Extraordinary as his conduct may seem, the subsequent experiences of
the settlers showed only too clearly that he really was not running any
great risk of trouble to himself.

The faithful collies, knowing that their young master was shut up in
the fur-house, stayed close at the door, and this enabled the rascally
half-breed, with the aid of another whom he called upon, to fasten
thongs around their necks, and to drag them off, in spite of their
frantic opposition.

Hector shouted and kicked at the door, until, at last, exhausted and
despairing, he threw himself down among the furs, and burst into futile
tears.

'What are they going to do to me?' he sobbed.  'Oh, I wish I'd never
gone near the fort!  How can father find out where I am?'

How, indeed, was the question.  Mr. Macrae had many things to engross
his attention, and Mrs. Macrae was so used to Hector's roaming about on
his own account, that she would not be apt to miss him until sundown.
As it fell out, it was from a most unlooked-for source that the clue
came.  Having made the best arrangements they could for shelter, and
these were very scant at best, the settlers gathered together for their
evening meal.  Then did the mother-heart of Mrs. Macrae begin to feel
concerned for her son.  'Where is Hector?' she asked her husband.  'I
have na seen him these many hours.  Was he no with you?'

'He was no with me at all,' answered Mr. Macrae, turning his keen
glance in every direction.  'He went aff with the twa dogs a gude while
ago, and I didna see just which way he went.'

'God grant he's na got into any harm!' sighed Mrs. Macrae.  ''Tis a
strange place this, and there's na tellin' what may happen to the
laddie.'

'Oh, he's a' richt,' responded her husband, cheerfully.  'He'll be
wanting his bannocks, and that'll bring him back soon.'

But when night fell, and still no sign of Hector, the Macraes grew very
anxious.  Andrew set out to make enquiries, and went through the party
of settlers, asking if any of them had seen the boy since mid-day.
Several of them had noticed him strolling about, accompanied by the
dogs, but no one could say definitely in what direction he had gone.

When the mystery was at its height, and the whole party was aroused to
concern for the missing boy, suddenly Dour appeared, and rushed up to
Mr. Macrae, barking joyfully.  The remains of a raw-hide thong, which
he had bitten through close to his body, hung about his neck, and, with
all the means of expression at the command of the most sagacious of his
kind, he strove to tell his story.

'Gude dog!  Gude dog!' murmured Mr. Macrae, patting the clever creature
fondly.  'There's been ill wark, nae doot.  Come with me, friends, an'
we'll sift it to the verra bottom.'

Slipping pistols into their pockets, for there was no telling what
might happen, half-a-dozen of the men signified their readiness to
accompany Mr. Macrae in the search for his son.  They were stalwart,
stern-looking men, with shaggy faces, and piercing, fearless eyes--not
the men to be trifled with by any one, and now deeply intent upon their
purpose, for their hearts beat in sympathy for the anxious father and
mother.

'Lead on, Dour, gude dog,' said Andrew; 'ye dootless ken the way.
We'll keep close ahind ye.'

The intelligent animal, fully grasping his master's meaning, set off at
once straight for the fort, the men following at a rapid jog-trot, in
order not to be left behind.  When they arrived at the fort they found
the gate closed, but, as Dour was insistent about entering, Mr. Macrae
did not hesitate to rap loud and long upon the stout timber with the
butt of his pistol.

For some time there was no response, for although those inside had not
yet gone to bed, they were all so engrossed in drinking, smoking,
talking, or gambling that they did not hear him.  At last a rough voice
was heard demanding in a surly tone: 'What do you want?  Who are you?'

'I want to see the Governor of the Fort,' replied Mr. Macrae, in a tone
that had no uncertain sound about it.

'He no see you now.  He busy,' was the growling reply, as the speaker
turned to go away.

'But I maun see him, and that richt awa,' retorted Mr. Macrae, and at
his signal the whole party fell to smiting the gate with their heavy
pistol butts.  This thundering tattoo evidently impressed the man
inside, for he came back to the gate, and, in a slow, sulky fashion,
proceeded to unfasten the stout bars that held it.  Opening it a couple
of inches, he peered suspiciously at the importunate callers, but the
latter gave him no time to scrutinize them; for, led by Mr. Macrae,
they threw themselves upon the heavy gate, forced it wide open, and
charged through ere the bewildered Metis realized their purpose.

There was no difficulty in distinguishing the factor's residence, for
it fairly blazed with light, and thither the group of stern, stalwart
men directed their steps, Dour, satisfied that they knew what they were
about, keeping close at his master's heels.

The door of the house stood wide open, but Mr. Macrae did not attempt
to enter without first rapping in a proper manner.  His summons brought
out a young lad, evidently from Scotland, who showed a very different
spirit from the surly half-breed at the gate.  'Ye wad hae a word wi'
the Governor, eh?' he asked, with a pleasant smile.  'Just bide ye
there, an' I'll gie him yer message.'

He disappeared into the room at the right, and Mr. Macrae prepared
himself to address the important official he had asked for.  But he was
not to have that privilege in a hurry.  The minutes went by without the
Governor appearing, or the young Scotsman returning, and, in rising
wrath, Andrew Macrae was just about to knock on the inside door, when
suddenly it opened, and there stood before him a thick-set,
shaggy-haired personage, whose deeply flushed features showed that he
had been dining not wisely but too well.  'What is it?' he demanded
brusquely.  'Why do you bother me now?  Why can't you wait until the
morning?'

In a firm, yet respectful, tone, Hector's father stated the reason of
his coming.  'Tut!  Tut!' growled the man.  'I can't attend to that
to-night.  Come back to-morrow,' and he was about to close the door,
when Mr. Macrae, with a quick movement, thrust his foot against it, and
at the same moment he laid his hand firmly upon the factor's arm.

'It's ma ain bairn I'm seeking, and I shall na leave here until I find
him.'  As he spoke, his companions pressed close behind him, shoulder
to shoulder.

The factor's bloodshot eyes went from one stern, intent face to
another.  Manifestly, these were not men to be trifled with.  Obscured
by strong drink as his brain was, enough sense remained to understand
that.  With an oath he flung the door open, and said sneeringly: 'Do ye
expect to find him in here?'

Through the cloud of tobacco smoke that filled the room, Mr. Macrae saw
several men sitting at the table with glasses before them.

'Surely not;' he replied, an accent of fine scorn in his deep voice.
'But with your permission, I'll search the fort.'

'Do so, and----' here followed rough words, but Andrew, having gained
his point, took no notice of the man's gross rudeness.



CHAPTER VI

Ordered Off

'Come awa', men,' he said to his companions.  'We'll na give o'er till
we've searched the place throughout.  Lead awa', Dour, gude dog.'

The clever collie needed no second bidding.  He had been very
impatiently awaiting the conclusion of the colloquy at the factor's,
and now bounded across the open space between the different buildings,
making straight for the fur-house.

By this time, several of the inmates of the fort had gathered, curious
as to what was up, and, had Mr. Macrae been alone, their sinister looks
might well have made him anxious concerning his own safety.

But his only thought was for Hector, and the grave, sinewy men by his
side, though few in numbers, were not the kind to invite hasty attack;
so, paying no heed to threatening looks or menacing utterances, the
little party reached the door of the fur-house.

Upon this, Mr. Macrae struck hard with his pistol-butt, calling out:
'Hector, laddie, are ye there?'

Instantly there came back from the interior a muffled cry of joy, and
the faint words: 'Father! oh, father! is that you?'

There was a stout padlock fastening the door, but Mr. Macrae quickly
prised this off, and tore the door open.  Out of the interior darkness
rushed Hector and flung himself, half-sobbing, into his father's arms.

Andrew returned the embrace warmly, and then asked in a tone of
surprise and concern: 'Was no' Dandy with you?'

'Why no, father!' replied Hector.  'The man that shut me up took both
Dour and Dandy away with him.'

'Then we maun find the dog,' was the resolute rejoinder.  'Here, Dour,
gude dog, call Dandy.'  Without a moment's hesitation, the well-trained
creature poured forth a volley of barks that meant as plainly as
possible, 'Dandy, where are you?  Tell us.'

'Now listen, friends, for the answer,' said Mr. Macrae, with a grim
smile.

There was no doubt about the response, for out of the surrounding gloom
burst a chorus of canine music that fairly made the welkin ring, and
how Dandy's particular contribution could be distinguished seemed a
hopeless problem.

But Mr. Macrae waited silently until the commotion had somewhat
subsided, and then, pointing to the northern end of the enclosure, said
confidently: 'There's whaur they've got Dandy.'

Dour evidently approved of their going thither, and presently, turning
the corner of one of the most remote buildings, they found the object
of their search, half-strangled in his frantic efforts to break the
thong that held him fast.

'God be thanked--we've found all three, and they're nane the waur of
it,' said Mr. Macrae, in a tone of fervent gratitude; and then, his
voice changing to righteous indignation, 'by the morn we'll find out
why this was done to ma laddie, and who did it.'

With the morn, however, came strange and startling events, that caused
Hector's peculiar experience to be entirely forgotten.  To understand
these aright, a little explanation is necessary.  Although the great
Hudson's Bay Company claimed full ownership of the North-West, their
right to this vast wilderness was vigorously disputed by a company
formed in Lower Canada and called the North-West Fur Company.  The
rivalry between the two companies for control of the fur-trade was
intense and unscrupulous.  They resorted to all sorts of stratagems to
injure each other, and wherever one built a fort, the other soon
established a second within sight.  Often their employees, made wild
with strong drink, broke out into open violence and many lives were
lost, and a number of forts sacked and burned in the course of the
bitter struggle.

Now, the Nor-Westers, as they were called for short, regarded the
advent of the Scotch folk with lively animosity.  They suspected it to
be a shrewd device of their rivals to get a firmer grip upon the
country.  The new-comers would not be rovers like themselves, but
settlers, who would build houses, and till the rich soil, and multiply
in numbers until they became a power in the land.

This far-seeing scheme must be nipped in the bud, and forthwith they
set themselves to do it.

The strange part of the whole affair was that they ran slight risk of
interference with their nefarious design from their hated rivals, for
the employees of the Hudson's Bay Company, although, of course, they
would take no part against the immigrants, were little more in favour
of their coming than the Nor-Westers.  They did not want the country
settled.  They had much rather it should remain a hunters' paradise,
and they were not disposed to lift a finger on behalf of the newcomers.

The first morning after the settlers' arrival seemed full of kindly
promise.  Summer was just giving way to autumn.  The prairie air was
clear and bracing without being too cool.  The sun shone from an azure
sky upon a vast expanse of golden-hued turf almost as level as a floor,
that only required to be turned over by the plough to be ready for fall
seeding.

The hardy Scotch folk, accustomed to the rocky uplands and stony
meadows of their 'ain countree,' looked with wonder and delight at the
rich inheritance into which they had come.

'Eh, mon! but it's grand, grand!' ejaculated Saunders Rowan, in a tone
of unqualified appreciation.  He was the senior member of the party,
and had been rather given to 'croaking,' but this glorious morning his
doubts and fears were all dispelled.

The women busied themselves preparing the morning meal, while the
children and dogs romped and rolled joyously in the rich, soft grass.
It was altogether a pretty picture, that seemed to be a happy augury of
the good times in store.

Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, this scene of gladness and peace
changed to one of terror and strife.  With no more warning than if they
had risen out of the ground itself, there charged down upon the
defenceless settlers a band of Indians in full war paint, mounted upon
their piebald ponies, armed with spears, bows, arrows, and guns, which
weapons they brandished fiercely, while they gave their awful war-whoop
with all the power of their lungs.

Crying to their children, and gathering them close, as the mother hen
does her chickens at sight of a hawk, the women huddled together in a
panic-stricken group, while the doughty dogs faced the enemy with
flashing teeth and threatening growls, and the men rushed to snatch up
their guns, or anything else that might serve as an effective weapon.

For a moment it seemed as if blood must be shed.  The Indians seemed
ripe for mischief and the stalwart Scots were determined to defend
their dear ones to the last extremity.

But before a blow was struck, the band, at a signal from their leader,
brought their horses to a halt, and ceased their hideous howlings.  The
leader then drew out from his mob of followers, and holding up his
hands in token of his wish to parley, asked in broken English for the
chief man of the strangers.

There was at first some hesitancy among the Scots at replying to this.
They had never formally chosen a leader, although, naturally, some of
the men had shown themselves stronger and shrewder than others.
Presently all eyes turned towards Andrew Macrae.  No man was fitter by
appearance or sagacity to be their spokesman, and, in response to their
unmistakable choice, he stepped forward.

'I'm but one of our little company, yet if ye'll tell me what ye mean
by a' this claverin' and scarin' peaceable folk, I'm ready to talk wi'
ye.'

The Indian leader straightened up in his saddle.  The stern, stalwart
Scotsman was no antagonist to be trifled with, and his first intention
of using the ready wit for which he had a reputation, to bait the
strangers for the amusement of his followers, before proceeding to
rougher measures, underwent a change.  Such a man needed to be dealt
with in a different fashion.  Accordingly, assuming as much dignity as
he could command, he began to explain what the alarming demonstration
meant.

His speech was a strange jargon compounded of English, French and
Indian words that would have sorely puzzled poor Mr. Macrae, were it
not helped out by a vigorous pantomime, that enabled him to follow the
drift of it, after a fashion.

The purport was serious enough, and his normally grave countenance grew
graver still as the meaning became clearer to him.

In brief, it was an order to quit!  Having at last reached their haven,
after so long and perilous a journey over sea and land, they were
summarily commanded to depart, and that without delay.



CHAPTER VII

How Hector Got His Nickname

At first, Mr. Macrae refused to credit his own intelligence.  The idea
was too appalling, and in his slow, deliberate way he made the Indian
leader repeat and reiterate his sinister communication.

Then, calling aside the seniors of his party, who had all been watching
the parley with intent, anxious faces, he told them the startling truth.

Naturally enough, they likewise were at the outset incredulous, and
stirred to righteous wrath.  What had this howling mob of painted and
befeathered Indians to do with them?  They were not the lords of the
land now, whatever they might have been before the coming of the white
man.  Lord Selkirk was the rightful owner of the broad, rich acres to
which they had made so painful a pilgrimage, and they, the settlers,
were the possessors in his name.  Not one step would they budge.  They
had come to stay.

All this, and more, Mr. Macrae repeated to the Indian leader with the
utmost emphasis, but he might as well have spared his breath.

'Non--no--non!' the fellow responded in his hybrid jargon.  'Must go
way.  No stay here.  No food, no fire, no tepee.  Go way down there,'
and he pointed due south.

While this parley was proceeding, the other members of his party had
been quietly forming a circle about the band of settlers, drawing
steadily closer until they were almost within touch of them.  As it
happened, little Ailie, her first fright having passed off, grew
interested in the gay trappings of the Indians, and, ere her mother
noticed, sidled towards one of them, in order to touch the feathers
that adorned his leggings.

She was just beside his stirrup, when, with a quick movement, he
reached down, grasped her under the arms, and swung her up before him,
saying, in what was meant to be a soothing tone:

'Ma jolie petite.  You like ride--eh?'  Ailie gave a scream of terror,
that reached the ears of her mother and Hector at the same moment.  The
former stood transfixed, but Hector, whose position was somewhat behind
the Indian, with the spring of a panther reached the pony's withers,
and the next moment had the Indian's throat tightly clasped in his
strong young hand.

The pony, frightened by the sudden addition of a second rider, at once
began to buck and rear, so that even its expert owner could hardly
retain his seat, doubly hampered as he was, holding Ailie, and being
held by Hector.

Noting his predicament, his companions closed in upon him to give him
help, and just at that moment Mrs. Macrae, her comely countenance
aflame with maternal anger, darted into their midst, and reaching up,
caught Ailie in her arms, crying: 'Ma bonnie bairn!  Are ye hurt?'  The
Indian let go his burden readily enough, and turned to attack Hector.

But the latter was too quick for him.  He had seen his mother's action,
and the instant Ailie was safely in her arms, he let go of the Indian's
throat, and threw himself to the ground, narrowly escaping being
trampled upon by the ponies of the nearest Indians.

The whole thing happened so quickly that many of both parties saw
nothing of it but the excitement it occasioned, and, for the moment,
there was a complete break-up of the parley between Mr. Macrae and the
Indian leader.

When order was in some measure restored, and Mr. Macrae had assured
himself that neither of his children was in any wise injured, he once
more gave attention to the serious situation which had so unexpectedly
presented itself.

With considerable difficulty he made the Indian understand that he must
have time to consider his astounding communication, and to consult with
the other men of his party.  To this the fellow, with much show of
reluctance, at last consented, and a gruff command sent the whole
cavalcade cantering off to a little distance, where they dismounted,
and, squatting upon the turf in a sort of circle, proceeded to light
their pipes, and talk in guttural tones of what had happened.

The Scots, that is to say the older men of the party, now gathered in a
little knot, their countenances grown suddenly haggard, for they all
realized that they were face to face with a crisis more menacing than
anything they had previously encountered.

''Tis unco strange.  I canna understand it at all,' said Mr. Macrae.
'Noo that we are come here after sae great trouble they say we canna
bide, but maun gang away doon to the States, where we dinna want to be.'

'Let us gang ower to the fort there,' suggested Saunders, pointing to
the Hudson's Bay fort, which stood on the bank of the river, about a
quarter of a mile distant.  'Surely the Governor will take our pairt
and winna let these savages have their way with us.'  This suggestion
met with instant approval, and three of the party, including Mr.
Macrae, were appointed to carry it out.

They at once set out across the prairie, while the other men rejoined
the women, to await the result of the embassy.

But no sooner had the three got well started, than with whoops and
yells the Indians sprang on their ponies and came cantering towards
them, waving their weapons in a way that meant only one thing--the
Scotsmen must go no farther.  Baffled and disheartened, the latter,
after a futile attempt at parley with the Indians, walked slowly and in
silence back to their companions.

The situation seemed as desperate as it was bewildering.  They were
utterly at a loss either to understand it or cope with it.  Lord
Selkirk had given them to believe that they would be warmly welcomed at
Red River, and afforded all necessary assistance in settling down, and
this was the way in which his promises were being fulfilled.

In their extremity they sought guidance and strength from God, and, to
the amazement of the Indians, who had again drawn closer, the stately
music of the Psalms rose from their midst, followed by the sonorous
voice of Saunders, laying before the Lord of all the anguish of their
hearts.

When their prayers were over they all felt more composed in mind,
although no light had come to them concerning the crisis.

The Indians again withdrew a little distance, and Hector, who was as
curious as he was courageous, and whose eye had been taken by the gay
feathers and beaded buckskins of the Indian leader, which certainly
made a brave show, went over towards him for a closer inspection, Dour
and Dandy following at his heels.

The Indian, noting the movement, advanced to meet him with an amiable
grin, and, just before they came together, threw himself off his
cayuse, as much as to say: 'See, I'm willing to be on even terms with
you.'  He was rather a fine-looking fellow, and Hector, little as he
yet knew about the red men of the plain, somehow felt that this was no
ordinary one.

He towered above the boy as they stood side by side, and, smiling
mischievously, he lifted the latter's thick cap from his head, and went
through the motion of scalping him.  The next instant, his teasing
expression changed to one of lively admiration, he thrust his hands
into Hector's curly locks, exclaiming: 'Ti-ti-pu!  Ti-ti-pu!'

Hector, for a moment, was somewhat startled, but he did not betray it.
Dour and Dandy, however, did not quite like the proceedings, and
growled menacingly through their glistening teeth.  The fact of the
matter was the Indian had never seen such a poll of golden curly locks
before, and, accustomed as he was to the straight, black, limp tresses
of his own people, they seemed to him something almost supernatural.
Thenceforward he would call Hector nothing but 'Ti-ti-pu,' and the
nickname stuck like a burr, until only the gravest members of his own
party hardly ever thought of calling him anything else.

In sore perplexity the Scots took counsel together as to what they
should do.  Their stock of provisions was nearly exhausted, and
although they had amongst them all a good deal of money, of what use
was it if the hostile residents would not sell them anything?

'It wad seem as though we maun go ewa' doon south for the winter at any
rate,' said Mr. Macrae, in a tone of profound despondency.  'The ways
of Providence are beyond our ken.  We maun just trust that the Lord
will guide us, and provide for our necessities.'

The Indian leader was then informed that, if they were allowed to
obtain a supply of provisions, and such other things as would be
necessary for the journey, they would obey their orders and go down to
the United States.

This was assented to, and, after some further parley, most of the
Indians went away, leaving the rest of their number on guard.  The
settlers, with heavy hearts, made preparations for the night.

Among the older members of the little band of pilgrims, to whom the
promised land seemed about to prove so bitter a disappointment, there
was not much sleep that night, and the morning found them haggard,
weary and depressed.  But after they had all, like one great family,
united in prayer and the singing of the Psalms, they became more
composed.  They were in God's hands, and dark as everything now looked,
He would send light in the end.

Soon after sunrise, the Indians reappeared in force, this time in quite
good humour, the settlers having already agreed to obey their orders,
and Mr. Macrae had little difficulty in making arrangements with them
to conduct the party to Pembina.

Under other circumstances, the settlement of the terms would have been
very amusing, for on the one side the language employed was a mixture
of Gaelic and English, and on the other of Indian jargon and mongrel
French, so that a great deal had to be made out by means of signs and
gestures, and contortions of countenances.  Hector watched the
proceedings with intense interest.  To tell the truth, after his first
fear of them had passed away, and he realized that they were not going
to kill and scalp his people, he was quite taken by the Indians, and
eager to get upon friendly terms with them.

By the leader he was particularly attracted, and, in exchange for the
nickname the Indian had given him, he, on his part, got the red man to
give him a name whereby to call him, namely, Wikonaie, which he
presently shortened to Wikon.

His friendship with the Indian, Hector's father looked upon with
approval.  He himself was perhaps of too unbending a nature to make any
advances towards a more amiable footing, but he was very glad to see
Hector accomplish it in his frank, boyish way.

Word was given that the start for Pembina would be made early the next
morning; and one of the bitter things the settlers had to endure was
being deprived of all their arms.  Poor Rob McEwen had to part with his
greatest treasure, a flintlock that his father had carried and used to
good effect in the battle of Culloden, and who can blame him if the
tears stood in his grey eyes as, after fondling the firearm as tenderly
as if it were a baby, he let it go from him never to get it back?  But
even harder perhaps was the case of Jeanie Sinclair, who had to part
with her marriage ring, whose glitter caught the eye of a big Indian,
who would not be denied the gleaming treasure.

In spite of all their troubles, the settlers did not forget to sing
their Psalm and to join with one of their elders in earnest prayer, ere
they sadly turned their faces southward.



CHAPTER VIII

On the Move Again

The procession that set forth for Pembina certainly presented a curious
sight.  It might have been intended to represent the triumph of
savagery over civilization.

Decked out in their gayest garb, fully armed, and mounted upon spirited
horses, the Indians pranced about in lordly style, giving orders to the
unfortunate folk from over sea, who, although they were really so much
superior to them, for the time being were completely in their power.

Mr. Macrae had succeeded in making an arrangement with the Indians that
they should carry the young children upon their horses, for, of course,
it would be out of the question for the little ones to walk, and this
gave the riders the chance to have a good deal of amusement at the
expense of the mothers of the children.

No sooner had the strange cavalcade got well under way than the rascals
galloped off ahead, and were presently out of sight on the boundless
prairie, while the bewildered, anxious mothers ran crying and pleading
after them, until they fell exhausted upon the turf.

Ailie Macrae was among those thus carried off, and Hector pursued the
Indian who held her until even his stout legs could not take another
stride, while Dour and Dandy, barking fiercely, continued the chase a
mile or two farther.

But, as he lay panting upon the grass, his first excitement having
passed away, he began to reason the theory out.  'That's just a trick
they're playing on us,' he said to himself.  'They'll bring the bairns
back nae doot, but it's a mean trick, and I'll tell them so.'

And the boy was as good as his word.  When the horsemen, having had
their fun, came back to those on foot, with the children unharmed, and
in most cases having greatly enjoyed the wild gallop, Hector made
straight for his new friend, Wikonaie, and with high-pitched voice and
vigorous gesture, made plain to him what he thought of the performance.

Wikonaie smiled at his passionate earnestness, and took no offence at
his fearless scolding.  'You talk big words,' he said, in a tone of
good-humoured admiration.  'You be big chief some day.  Me like you.'
This soft answer completely turned away Hector's wrath, and, in spite
of himself, a smile took possession of his flushed features.

'Ha!  Ha!  Wikonaie,' he cried, 'ye're a canny chiel.  Ye ken right
well how to get out of it.'

And so the matter ended between them, but it was a noticeable fact
that, although some of the other Indians repeated the foolish trick,
Wikonaie took no further part in it, and that henceforth it was little
Ailie that rode upon his saddle, and was so happy there that she was
always sorry when she had to dismount.

The procession could make but slow progress.  The settlers were no less
heavy of foot than of heart, and both women and men alike had to carry,
up to the limit of their strength, such of their belongings as they
could not possibly part with.  Moreover, their English-made boots were
not at all the right thing, and their poor feet swelled out and
blistered inside them, until some could scarcely stand upright.

How they envied the Indians their soft moccasins, and how they vowed to
themselves that they would put off their clumsy, uncomfortable boots
for them at the first opportunity!

So they struggled on over the prairie, the weather, fortunately,
continuing fine and warm, so that they could sleep in the open air at
night without inconvenience.  At last footsore, weary, and sad of
heart, they reached their destination.--Pembina, a frontier settlement
of the United States, where they were now to pass the long, cold winter.

Hector was rather sorry when the journey came to an end, tiresome as it
was to his seniors.  They went so slowly that he had plenty of time to
roam at his will, and never without the company of Dour and Dandy.  He
would make excursions to the right and left of the line of march, and
generally manage to find plenty to amuse and interest him.

'Eh! but ye're grand friends to have!' he would cry to his faithful
four-legged playmates after a wild scamper over the prairie, which set
all three of them panting.  'Ye ken as much as most ordinary folk, and
ye can run faster and farther than the best man that ever lived.
Indeed, I just wish I could run about half as fast myself.  It would be
a fine thing to be able to do,' and then he would take their hairy
heads between his hands, and rub his own face fondly between them.

At Pembina, they were well received by the residents, who seemed glad
to have such an addition to their numbers, and, with their aid and
advice, they at once set about getting ready the huts or tents that
would be their only homes for many months to come.  With all who could
help lending a hand, these simple habitations did not take long to put
up, and in the course of a few days, each family had their own little
dwelling, such as it was, and the whole party felt in better spirits
than they had done for many a day.

Mr. Macrae's hut was one of the best of the little group.  Taking the
Highland cottage as his model, he constructed out of sods, wood, and
canvas, the latter serving for the roof, a really snug affair with a
'butt' and a 'ben,' that gave him much satisfaction, and of which
Hector was immensely proud, as it was the only 'residence' in the camp
having two rooms.

Shelter having thus been secured, the next thing to be taken into
account was the food question.  Happily the answer to this lay right
around them.  The country was rich in game.  From the frisky rabbit to
the lordly buffalo, the prairie or the woods offered the hunter rich
reward for his skill and patience.

To Hector's vast delight, his father bought a gun for him as well as
for himself.

'Ye're a big laddie now,' said Mr. Macrae, his grave features lighting
up with a rare smile of love and pride, as he watched the boy fondling
the firearm as a mother would her baby, 'and it is right you should
learn to use the gun.  Be verra careful with it, laddie, and dinna
forget that powder and bullets are very scarce, and maun na be wasted.'

Hector, of course, promised to be as economical as possible of
ammunition, and, having thanked his father over and over again, rushed
off to show his gun to the other boys in the party.

Naturally his first essay as a hunter was against the rabbits, that
were quite plentiful in the clumps of trees which were a feature of the
country.  With Dour and Dandy bounding and barking beside him, and a
young half-breed with whom he had picked up an acquaintance as his
companion, he set off very proudly and confidently.  Baptiste had
promised to guide him to the best places for the bunnies, and Hector
said confidently to his mother, as, with no small anxiety in her eye
and voice, she was warning him to be careful in handling the gun: 'To
be sure, mither, to be sure; I'll take the best o' care o' myself and
the gun, and, mither, I'll bring ye back as many rabbits as I can
carry.'

It was a boyish boast, for he had yet to shoot his first rabbit; but
Hector had that happy quality, 'a gude conceit of himself,' and it was
a great help to him in life.

Reaching the woods, the dogs, with the fine intelligence of their noble
race, ceased bounding and barking aimlessly, and, with lowered heads,
ran silently hither and thither seeking for game.  They were not long
in picking up a brace of bunnies that gave a fine chance for a shot ere
they leaped away out of range.

'Shoot 'em--queek!' cried Baptiste excitedly.

Hector threw the gun to his shoulder with all speed, and pulled the
trigger without stopping to take aim.  Naturally the charge of shot
buried itself harmlessly in the side of a tree, and the panic-stricken
rabbits vanished unhurt.

'Bah!' cried Hector, in disgust at his miserable markmanship.  'I did
na touch them!  Eh, Baptiste, but they're awfu' smart!'

Baptiste, considerately doing his best to smother a smile, nodded in
assent and muttered something about trying again.

Another chance soon came, but Hector had no better luck, and he began
to realize that shooting the long-eared, long-legged little creatures
was not so easy as he had at first imagined.  Having failed for the
third time, he handed the gun, in disgust, to the half-breed, saying:
'Here, Baptiste, you try.'

Baptiste eagerly seized the fire-arm, and the next rabbit that was
started he tumbled over neatly.  Another and another was shot in quick
succession, and then, returning the gun with a grateful smile, Baptiste
said: 'Now you shoot.'

Hector's next attempt, happily, was not a miss, and encouraged by this,
he kept on with varying success, until, between him and Baptiste,
nearly a dozen rabbits had been bowled over.  Then, satisfied with
their bag, they hastened homeward to proudly exhibit the results of
their day's hunting.

'Weel done, laddie, weel done!' exclaimed Mrs. Macrae, patting Hector
fondly.  'Ye'll be getting us mony a gude dinner, I'm thinking.'



CHAPTER IX

The Buffalo Hunt

Soon after the arrival of the Selkirk settlers at Pembina, the people
of the place set about preparing for the great fall buffalo hunt, and
they cordially invited the Scots to join them.

The latter accepted the kind invitation eagerly, and all the men who
had a little money to spare purchased guns and ammunition from the
store-keepers.

For days the settlement and the Scotch camp were full of bustle.
Ponies had to be provided for all the hunters, provisions prepared, as
they would be away probably for ten days or so, and a number of other
things attended to.

Mr. Macrae, having decided to go himself, at first wanted Hector to
remain behind with his mother, but the boy pleaded so earnestly to be
taken, and the loving, self-sacrificing mother, though she dreaded some
mishap, so warmly supported his plea, that, to his abounding joy, his
father consented.

It was an odd-looking cavalcade that set forth from Pembina on a
bright, bracing October morning.  The Scotsmen looked very awkward as,
mounted upon Indian ponies, some of which were so small that the long
legs of the riders almost touched the ground, they strove to carry
their guns and keep their seats with some sort of dignity.

The Pembina folk, whether white or half-breed, were all good riders,
and, having taken the pick of the ponies, as was only natural, looked
remarkably well, while half-a-score Indians who were to act as guides
galloped hither and thither, whooping and brandishing their guns by way
of showing off.

Hector was delighted with the pony that fell to him, a sturdy, piebald
creature, in quite good condition and full of life, but not at all
vicious.  No knight of old sallying forth in full armour could have
felt prouder than did the Scotch laddie, as, with Dour and Dandy
barking and pretending to bite the pony's nose, he took his place in
the motley procession.

'Eh, father, but isn't this just grand!' he cried, enthusiastically, as
he cantered beside his father, whose stalwart frame looked bigger than
ever as he rode solemnly upon a steed that, assuredly, had never
carried so weighty a rider before.  'See what a fine horse I have, and
he's that good, too!  Oh, but I hope we'll be sure to find the buffalo!'

'Ye need na fash yersel', laddie,' responded Mr. Macrae, with one of
his wise, kind smiles.  'Ye'll have plenty of riding upon your little
horse, and we're likely enough to find the buffalo, for these folk ken
just where to look for them.  So be patient an' ye'll have your desire.'

They travelled for two days due west, and then made camp on a lovely
spot beside a clear flowing stream, where a clump of trees afforded
them both shade and firewood.  Farther west stretched the prairie where
roamed the noble animal of whom they were in quest.

Soon after dawn the next morning the whole camp was astir, and after a
hurried meal everybody got ready for the day's business.  The weather
was all that could be wished, and spirits ran high.

'Ye'll keep as near to me as ye can, eh, laddie?' said Mr. Macrae to
Hector.  'There'll be mony ways o' getting hurt, e'en though ye may be
careful.'

'Yes, father, I'll try,' answered Hector promptly, but in his heart he
felt that once the chase really began his speedy pony, with only his
light weight to carry, must soon run away from the scarcely larger
animal that had his father's two hundred pounds upon his back.

A veteran hunter, nick-named Buffalo Carter, took entire charge of the
hunt, and under his short, sharp commands the party was divided up, and
sent off in different directions.

There were six in the party to which Mr. Macrae and Hector were
assigned, and their captain--so to speak--was a shrewd, good-humoured
half-breed, Narcisse by name, who had killed many score of buffalo in
the course of his career.  He had taken a liking to Hector, and he
greatly admired Dour and Dandy, who, having vented their superfluous
spirits, were now trotting quietly along beside Hector's pony, and he
said to him in a sort of aside: 'You keep close to me, eh! _mon petit
ami_.  Kill big buffalo for sure, eh!'

Hector responded with a grateful smile.  'I will that if I can, but
your fine horse will likely run away from my pony.'

'Non-non--that's all right,' laughed Narcisse, pleased at the
compliment to his steed.  'You keep so near me as possible.'

The different groups of riders being about a quarter of a mile apart,
the whole party covered a pretty wide stretch of prairie, as they
steered due west at a leisurely lope.

The leader's plan of campaign was that, on a herd of buffalo being
sighted, every effort should be made to surround it without stampeding
it, and to this end instructions had been given to the captains of each
band that not a shot should be fired until the signal was given by
Carter himself.

On they loped over the billowy prairie, the tensity of eagerness
growing with each mile covered.  Suddenly, Carter, who was a little in
advance of all the others, pulled up on the hither side of a swale, and
gave the signal agreed upon for a general halt.  It passed from band to
band almost instantaneously and the hunters became as motionless as
statues.

Carter, slipping from his horse, went forward cautiously on foot some
little distance, and then, dropping on all fours, peered over the top
of a big swale beyond which, perhaps, was the big game they sought.

'He see 'em!  Buffalo near now!' exclaimed Narcisse to Hector, as he
tightened rein and grasped his gun more firmly.  'You be ready, eh?'
Hector was too excited to do more than nod assent, as he kept his eyes
following every movement of Carter.

The latter, evidently satisfied with his scrutiny, made haste back to
his horse, and, having remounted, by making a sort of semaphore of
himself, waving his arms in rapid fashion, signalled to the captains of
each band.

They caught his meaning, and the next instant, all were in motion
closing in toward their leader.  When they were near enough he
signalled for them to spread out in a single line, then, waving his gun
above his head as a final signal for them to do likewise, he dashed
forward at the full speed of his swift steed.

As they swept over the swale, the buffalo came in sight--a fine herd,
numbering several hundred, grazing on the rich grass in utter
unconsciousness of the human cyclone rushing upon them.

The wind blew from them towards the hunters, thus giving the latter,
whose ponies' hoofs made scarcely any sound upon the thick turf, the
opportunity to get quite close ere an old bull threw up his head,
caught sight of the charging cavalcade, and instantly gave vent to a
thundering bellow of warning, that caused the whole herd to cease
grazing and huddle together nervously.

Only for a moment did they thus hesitate.  Then, moving as one huge
black mass, they were off in full flight, with the hunters not a
hundred yards behind.

Hector was amazed that such heavy, clumsy-looking creatures could get
up such speed, and his excitement rose to its highest pitch as, urging
his pony on by voice and heel, he strove to reach the rear of the
panic-stricken herd.

Dour and Dandy, in no less a state of excitement, were already snapping
at the heels of the buffalo, and enjoying themselves immensely.

Little by little Hector's clever pony, to which, by the way, he had
given the appropriate name of Joseph, because his coat was of many
colours, caught up to the herd, until, at last, with an extra spurt, he
charged right into it, and Hector, not altogether to his comfort, found
himself wedged in between two great shaggy animals, whose bloodshot
eyes made them look very fierce, even if they were fleeing for their
lives.

He did his best to check the speed of his pony, pulling upon the reins
with all his might.  But Joseph had got the bit in his teeth, and being
in a regular frenzy of excitement, all Hector's efforts were fruitless.
Not only so, but as the tremendous pace began to tell upon the buffalo,
and their speed slackened, Joseph, who showed no signs of tiring, made
his way deeper into the herd, until presently Hector was completely
surrounded by the huge animals.

His situation was one of great peril, for, although the buffalo were
too intent upon flight to pay him any attention, yet if by chance his
pony were to stumble or put his foot in a gopher hole, bringing down
himself and his rider, they would both infallibly be trampled out of
all semblance of life under the hoofs of the mighty creatures.

But not for a moment did the boy lose his wits.  Holding hard to the
saddle he watched keenly for his chance of deliverance.



CHAPTER X

Lost on the Prairie

Not until he had become embedded as it were in the panic-stricken mass
of buffalo did Mr. Macrae observe his son's peril.

At almost the same moment Narcisse caught sight of the boy, and, with a
characteristic exclamation of horror, at once drove his horse into the
herd, that he might, if possible, get to Hector's side.

'Take care!  Take care!' he shouted with all his might, not recking
that his voice was utterly lost in the thunder of the countless hoofs.
'Keep hold, eh!'

Mr. Macrae followed his example, and the two men plunged into the mob
of terrified monsters, steering as best they could for the imperilled
boy.

Meanwhile, Hector, who had kept both his head and his seat wonderfully,
not forgetting the purpose of the whole affair, pointed his gun behind
the shoulder of a fine fat buffalo and fired.

The muzzle of the gun was so close to the buffalo that the discharge
burned the animal's hide, and the recoil almost knocked Hector out of
his saddle.

But the bullet found its way to the great creature's heart, and, a
moment later, down it went, to the delight of the young huntsman.  The
loud report was not without effect upon the buffalo that hemmed in
Hector.  They swerved off to right and left, giving him more room and
thereby enabling Narcisse and his father to reach his side.

'Ah, laddie!' cried his father.  'I was in great fear for ye.  Ye
should na have gone into such danger.  Be carefu' now, for ye're not
yet out of harm's way.'

Hector nodded gaily in reply.  He was so exultant over his success that
he could think of nothing else for the moment.

As neither Narcisse nor Mr. Macrae had yet bagged their buffalo, they
left Hector to stay beside his prize while they went on after the
fleeing herd, upon whom the tremendous pace was beginning to tell.

The reports of the guns followed fast upon each other, as the different
members of the hunting party, choosing a fine fat cow, or a prime young
bull, brought down their victim with unerring aim.

At last the pursuit of the herd ended, and the hunters returned to take
stock of results.  These were certainly satisfactory: nearly a score of
buffalo, all in the best of condition, had been secured, and a supply
of food that would keep the whole settlement for many weeks was ensured.

Very proud and content was Buffalo Carter, and all the other members of
the party, particularly Hector, whose buffalo was as fine a specimen as
any of the others.

'Eh, but it was a warm, stirrin' experience,' remarked Mr. Macrae, with
emphasis.  'I never expected to see the like of it.  'Tis a wonderful
country, this, and there's a powerful lot to be learned.  But I'm right
glad I've come, laddie,' he went on, laying his hand fondly upon
Hector's shoulder, 'and with the favour of God we shall yet do better
here than e'er we could in the land we left.'

This was a good deal for him to say, but the excitement of the hunt had
for the time swept away his reserve, and he was in almost as high
spirits as Hector.

So soon as they had rested a little, the buffalo hunters set to work to
skin the buffalo, and to cut the rich meat into long strips, which,
after being dried in the sun, were then minced as small as possible,
and so made into 'pemmican,' which was then packed away for use in the
winter.

Of course, there was great feasting meanwhile, and the special
tit-bits, such as the tongues and the humps, were cooked and eaten with
the keenest relish.

Dour and Dandy were so well supplied with bits of juicy steak, or
well-covered bones, that they were in danger of overfeeding, and Mr.
Macrae had to limit their allowance.

It took several days to prepare the pemmican, and then, laden with it
and with the buffalo-skins which would at leisure be made into the
warmest of robes, the whole party moved slowly back to Pembina.

'Eh! but I'm glad I killed one myself,' said Hector to his father as
they rode along together, 'for now I'll have a buffalo robe of my own,
and that will be fine when the winter comes, won't it, father?'

So indeed it proved.  There was many a night during the long cold
winter at Pembina, when Hector, lying snug and warm under his
buffalo-robe, had reason to be thankful for the success of his shot.

The reception of the hunting-party at Pembina was a royal one, and the
feasting that followed was shared in by all.  Then the remainder of the
meat was stored away for the winter.

As already mentioned, Mr. Macrae had taken more pains and spent
somewhat more money upon the hut that sheltered his family, and now,
having got everything fixed to his satisfaction, with that fore-thought
which was one of his distinguishing traits, he resolved to secure a
supply of firewood for the winter.

A fine 'bunch of timber,' as it was called locally, stood not more than
a mile away, and, hiring a horse and cart from one of the residents,
Mr. Macrae, accompanied by his whole family--for it was beautiful
weather, being the so-called Indian summer--began his attack upon the
trees.

'I'll cut them doon, laddie,' he said to Hector, 'and ye'll chop off
the branches, and so we'll just divide the wark between us.'

This arrangement suited Hector, and he did his part faithfully, lopping
off the branches so that the trunk itself could be cut up into suitable
lengths.

None of the trees were large.  The country is not favourable to forest
giants, and the wood was fairly soft, so that Hector's task was by no
means beyond his powers.

The work went on steadily from day to day, and Mrs. Macrae viewed with
the approval and satisfaction of a good housewife the growing pile of
fuel that would be right at hand through the long winter.

'Ye always were a good provider, Andrew,' she said, giving her stalwart
husband a look of ineffable love and pride.  'Nane o' yer charge will
ever want while ye're aboot.'

From under his shaggy brows, Andrew Macrae returned the look of love
and pride; for to him there was no woman so bonnie or so wise as his
gude wife, but he pretended to make light of the compliment, saying he
was but doing his duty.

The wood-pile at the hut had grown big enough, and they were making
their last trip to the timber.  Mrs. Macrae had not accompanied them,
but little Ailie would not be left at home.  She enjoyed too much the
ride out on the empty cart, and then back again, perched triumphantly
on top of the load, to lose the last chance for it.  So father had to
yield to her pretty pleadings, although he would have preferred her
remaining with her mother.

The father and son worked very hard that day, and during the afternoon
got so engrossed in the completion of their task, that they quite
forgot the little girl.

Then, left to her own resources, Ailie, as sturdy a child for her years
as ever stepped, wandered off over the prairie in the opposite
direction to home, her little head filled with some foolish notion of
getting nearer to the sunset.

On and on she went, forgetful of everything but the beauty of the
western sky, which had so fascinated her, and it was because her blue
eyes were intent upon this, and not upon what was under her feet, that
she did not notice the coulee, or break in the prairie, into which she
fell with a sharp cry of fright.

Happily it was soft earth at the bottom of the coulee, and Ailie was
not injured in the least by her fall.  But she was terrified beyond
measure at her situation, and screamed for her father and brother with
the full strength of her lungs.

But, lying as she was at the bottom of the coulee, a dozen feet or more
below the surface of the prairie, her most vigorous efforts could not
have been heard many yards away.

There the poor little lonely frightened girl wept and wailed and cried
out for her father and Hector, until at last, in sheer exhaustion, she
lapsed into a sort of stupor and knew no more.



CHAPTER XI

The Losing and Finding of Ailie

It was not until they had completed the day's task and the wood was all
ready to be loaded into the cart, that Mr. Macrae missed Ailie.

Not seeing her about, he called out:

'Ailie, Ailie, my bairnie, where are you?  Come ye here noo!'

Then, getting no response, he began to call louder and louder, and to
go this way and that among the trees, looking anxiously for the
golden-haired lassie, while Hector ran out on the prairie calling with
all his might:

'Ailie!  Ailie! come here.'  Still no answer, and as the sun had set
and it was already beginning to grow dusk, the anxiety of father and
brother became intense.

Little Ailie was lost--lost on the prairie--and in a short time night
would be upon them.  Oh, what was to be done?

After the first hurried rushing hither and thither without avail, Mr.
Macrae, realizing that it would be necessary to carry on the search on
a larger scale, called Hector to him and said:

'We must have help.  I'll go and get our friends.  Ye bide here.  Maybe
Ailie will come back of herself.'

So saying, Mr. Macrae set off on foot across the prairie at a swift
pace, far faster than could have been made by the heavily-loaded cart.

Thus left alone, Hector, in spite of himself, began to feel nervous.
Snow, the first of the year, began falling softly and silently.

For some time Hector sat waiting, then the happy thought came to him to
set the dogs on Ailie's trail.  He took from his pocket a ribbon the
child had dropped the day before, and showing it to the clever
creatures, told them to 'find Ailie.'  They seemed to understand at
once what was expected of them, and set out on the vanishing, whitening
trail, Hector keeping up with them as best he might.

Soon after this, Mr. Macrae and his party arrived, each man bearing a
lantern or torch.  They were greatly dismayed to find Hector also
missing, and doubly hastened their preparations for the search.  Under
Mr. Macrae's directions, the party, leaving their horses tied to the
trees, until they had first made search on foot, spread out in a long
line, ten yards or so separating each man from his neighbour, and
proceeded to make a thorough search of the prairie.

It was a weird night, and one such as never before had been seen
there--the long line of lights bobbing about as the searchers moved
through the darkness.

Meanwhile, Hector's search was being diligently made.  Dour and Dandy
hesitated once or twice as if puzzled, but in a moment trotted on
again, and before very long they led Hector to the coulee.  The excited
boy fell rather than climbed down, and made straight for a sort of
pocket in the bank where he could hear the dogs sniffing.

And there lay Ailie!  Curled up like a kitten, and so motionless that,
for a moment, Hector's heart stood still with fear.  Then a quick move
forward in the dim light, and his hand was among the clustered curls,
and touching the warm, soft neck.

Ailie was alive! hurt, perhaps, but alive, and in the greatness of his
joy the boy sent forth a shout that caused Dour and Dandy above to
break forth into an 'exposition of barking' that attracted the
attention of several of the searchers, making them wonder if the wise
dogs might not have discovered something.

Hector picked up Ailie with the utmost tenderness.  The child, aroused
from her stupor, gave a little cry of fear, then threw her arms about
her brother's neck, and burst into tears.

He hugged, and patted, and soothed her with loving words.  'And are ye
no hurt anywhere?' he asked her, half in wonder, half in joy.  'Just to
think of it.  Oh, but the good God took wonderfu' care of you.  Now
just you bide there a minute, and I'll try to let them know I found ye.'

Ailie, puzzled but obedient, stood as she was directed, and Hector
began to shout with all the vigour of his healthy young lungs.  'Hi
there!  Come here!  I've found her!  She's not hurt.'

The clear strong voice rose out of the coulee, and was first heard by
those who had noticed the eager barking of Dour and Dandy.  'Ah! ha!'
exclaimed one of them, Black Rory Macdonald, his shaggy face lighting
up eagerly.  'Come awa', there,'--and off he went as fast as his mighty
legs could carry him.  He had no trouble in locating the dogs, and
holding his lantern over the edge of the little hollow, he at once
caught sight of Hector and Ailie.

'The gude Lord be praised!' he cried fervently.  'The bairnie's found,
and there's nae hurt upon her.'

His joyous shouts rapidly brought the other searchers, Mr. Macrae being
among the first to reach the spot.  Without loss of time, the boy and
girl were lifted out of the coulee, to be overwhelmed with
demonstrations of delight and affection from men who ordinarily kept
their feelings very strictly under control.

'And noo awa' tae yer mither--yer poor distracted mither,' broke in Mr.
Macrae, gathering up Ailie and starting towards the place where the
horses were tethered.  With long impatient steps he swept over the
ground, and, taking the first horse he came to, put Ailie upon the
saddle before him, and galloped off for the encampment, where, with
brimming eyes and trembling lips, he placed the child in the mother's
arms, saying softly: 'Praise God, Mary, oor bairnie's given back to us.'

The winter came soon after this, and it was well for the Highland folk
that they had at home been inured to the cold, for Jack Frost certainly
did not spare them at Pembina.

The clear, dry atmosphere misled them at first.  They would not realize
how cold it really was, until nose or cheeks were nipped.  And more
than one of them had a narrow escape from being frozen to death.

Yet, upon the whole, the winter passed quite comfortably, albeit the
question of food sometimes became a pressing one, when the hunters had
been unsuccessful for a time.

One day, Narcisse, who took a lively interest in Hector, rushed to tell
him that a great moose had been seen in the woods to the north, and
that he was going out next day to hunt for him.  He invited Hector to
go with him.

Of course, the boy jumped at the invitation, and, his father not
objecting, for he had considerable confidence in Narcisse, arrangements
for the enterprise were made at once.



CHAPTER XII

The Moose Hunt

Mr. Macrae allowed Hector to take Dour and Dandy, and, as Narcisse had
two good dogs of his own, they were well provided.  The only other
member of the party was Narcisse's half-brother, Baptiste, not equal to
him in intelligence and experience, but a strong and good-natured
fellow, who would take his share of work or danger.

They took a horse apiece, not to ride, for of course they travelled on
snowshoes, but to carry their blankets, buffalo-robes, cooking gear,
etc.

Hector was a very happy boy as he set forth on a superb winter morning
clad in the warmest of clothing, and striding along upon his
snow-shoes, in the use of which he had become quite expert.

His mother watched with eyes in which there was anxiety as well as
admiration and love, but all she said was: 'Be verra carefu', laddie,
and do whatever Narcisse bids you.'

They steered north-east from Pembina and travelled all day without
interruption, except for the necessary mid-day meal.

The country now appeared to change somewhat.  The deep woods had given
place to rolling prairie, broken at the sky-line by low poplar bluffs.
By nightfall they had reached the frozen marshy borders of the Roseau
River.  East from its waters there stretched hundreds of miles of
spruce forest, home of the moose, caribou, and the great timber wolf.
A rough camp was quickly made, and in the morning the hunters pursued
their way again through the deep evergreens.  In a short time more they
would have reached the hunting-ground, when an accident occurred, that
almost caused them to turn back empty-handed.

Narcisse, on his snow-shoes, in stepping over a half-burned log, fell
forward, wrenching his knee so badly that on rising he could scarcely
walk.  All thought of the hunt had now to be given up, but as they were
sadly retracing their steps, they espied the smoke of a tepee at the
end of a small clearing.

A few minutes later, and to their joy they were in the broad tepee of
their former friend, Wikonaie, who was himself, at that moment,
preparing to start on a hunt.

Failing Narcisse, nothing would have suited Hector better than to have
Wikonaie accompany them.  Narcisse was left in Wikonaie's tepee in
charge of the young Indians, and the horses were also left at the camp,
as well as Narcisse's two dogs, who answered ill to orders from any one
except their master.  Then the party eagerly set-out.

The hours were passing without any sign of game, when Wikonaie gave a
cry of joy.  'See!' he cried, 'you know what that means?  Eh, I will
show you a great moose soon.'

Their eyes followed the direction of his finger, and there, plainly
printed in the snow, which was softer here, was the great footprint
which, from its size, could be no other than that of the quarry they
sought.  They exchanged exclamations of surprise and delight, and then
Wikonaie, bidding them tighten their belts, for there would be no
dinner that day, gave out his plan of campaign.

The moose was ahead of him, perhaps only a mile or two; they must push
forward with utmost speed and at the same time utmost caution.  For
this purpose, Wikonaie would lead the way, Baptiste follow, and Hector
bring up the rear, keeping Dour and Dandy at heel until their services
should be required.

Thus, in Indian file, they went on for quite another mile, when
Wikonaie, with a low exclamation of warning, suddenly sank to his
knees, at the same time pointing to something under the tree that his
sharp eyes at that moment caught.

Coming up to him, the others imitated his attitude, and peered in the
direction indicated, until presently they also made out a great dark
mass, half-obscured by the tree-trunks, but manifestly not motionless.

'We come up to heem behind,' said Wikonaie, in a dramatic whisper, 'not
in front, but on de side.  You follow me!'

With the infinite care of the experienced hunter, Wikonaie made his way
in a sort of semi-circle which, at the end, brought him within firing
distance of the moose, and almost straight behind him.  As the wind
blew straight from the moose towards the hunters, things seemed very
much in their favour.

'Ah, now, we must be ver' careful, ver' careful, not make no noise,'
whispered Wikonaie to his companions, who nodded eager assent.  Yard by
yard they crept upon their unconscious prey.  The giant creature had
struck a small bunch of particularly young and juicy trees, and he was
enjoying them to his heart's content.

When Wikonaie deemed they were sufficiently near, he gave the signal
for them to be ready to fire.  The next moment the woods rang out with
a strange wild shout, which would have startled anything in the way of
man or beast: and the moose, thus rudely interrupted in his rich
repast, flung up his head with a snort, partly of fear and partly of
defiance.

This was the moment for which Wikonaie was waiting.  'Now fire!' he
cried, drawing the trigger of his own gun as he spoke.

Almost as one, the three reports startled the echoes of the woods, and
the moose, suddenly wheeling round, the incarnation of fury and of
fright, was met by the two dogs, Dour and Dandy, who sprang gallantly
at him, barking and leaping for his great nose.  Bewildered by this
novel attack, he thought flight the best thing, and sped off into the
woods at an amazing pace.  Indeed, he went so fast that Hector, who had
fully expected to see the great creature drop instantly, began to fear
lest he might not be mortally wounded after all, and they should lose
him in the woods.  Wikonaie's countenance showed no such anxiety.  True
the moose had disappeared with the dogs at his heels, but he left on
the spotless snow the sure sign of a stricken animal--great splashes of
red, which told that he could not go very far.

'We follow heem now, eh?' cried Wikonaie, rapidly reloading his gun,
the others doing the same.  Off they set along the blood-marked trail,
and, about the end of a mile, Wikonaie gave a shout of joy, for there,
just ahead of him, fallen at the foot of an unusually large tree, was
their quarry, to all appearances dead.  Now, for the first time,
Wikonaie showed a rashness which he had not before; for dropping his
gun, and drawing his hunting-knife, he went triumphantly up to the
fallen monarch, and waved the keen steel above his massive antlers in
token of victory.

The next instant, with a roar of startling ferocity, the moose sprang
to his feet, hurling Wikonaie over on his back, right in front of him,
where a single stroke from one of his tremendous forelegs would have
made of the Indian a bleeding lifeless hulk.

Fortunate indeed was the presence of the dogs, Dour and Dandy, as they,
realizing the crisis, sprang at the moose's head with utter
fearlessness, and one of them succeeded in securing a temporary hold
upon the thick neck.  This bewildered the monster for a moment, and
that gave Hector an opportunity, to which the boy, all of a tremble as
he was, happily proved equal.

To free himself from the dogs the moose tossed his head high in the
air, thereby flinging Dour to one side, but at the same time exposing
in the completest way his magnificent breast.  Hardly pausing to take
aim, Hector fired, and the bullet went straight to the heart of the
noble creature.

With a despairing bellow, almost like a great human groan, he once more
sank at the foot of the tree, this time to rise no more.

How those three rejoiced over their great triumph, Baptiste claiming
that his first shot had been fatal; Wikonaie proud of his little
Ti-ti-pu, now a strong young brave, skilled in the chase, and a man to
be feared in war: and Hector, thankful for the opportunity which had
enabled him to save his Indian friend.

Late as the hour was, they decided to return to Wikonaie's tepee, where
half the night was spent in extolling Ti-ti-pu's prowess and further
cementing the friendship so strangely begun.

And not alone was Hector benefited, but Wikonaie was able to promise
that the settlers could return unmolested to their farms in the summer,
partly because of his own feeling, and partly because the North-Westers
had ceased to bribe the Indians to make trouble, and they required
little persuading to follow the leadership of Wikonaie, their chief.

But the settlers still had a desperately hard time of it, sometimes
being reduced to no other food than the wild turnip found in great
quantities in that locality, and at the end of the second summer,
nearly all of them returned to Pembina for the winter.

This sort of thing went on for several years, until finally, having
received further reinforcements from Lord Selkirk, they really began to
take root, and a comfortable, self-sustaining settlement grew up, which
in large part realized the hopes which had drawn them from the Old
World to the New.

Through it all, Hector was a loyal, obedient son.  He shared in all his
father's toil, did his best to brighten little Ailie's play hours, and
altogether bore himself with infinite credit.

None of the Scotch settlers struck deeper roots into the country than
did the Macraes, but this story cannot follow them any farther.
Suffice it to say, their descendants are some of the finest men and
women, not to mention boys and girls, in the Canadian North-West.



_Printed by Hasell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._





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