Les outlaws du Missouri. English, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  A QUEER CUSTOMER.

  It was the beginning of the month of October, and some sharp frostshad rid the land of mosquitoes and gnats, which during the hot seasonabound in myriads near watercourses and beneath the leafy arches of thevirgin forest, being one of its worst scourges.

  A few minutes after the rising of the sun a traveller, mounted on amagnificent horse, wearing the costume of a prairie hunter, and whosegeneral appearance indicated a white man, emerged at a walking pacefrom a high thicket, and entered upon a vast prairie, at that dayalmost unknown to the trappers themselves, those hardy explorers ofthe desert--and which was not far from the Rocky Mountains, in thecentre of the Indian country, and nearly two thousand miles from anysettlement.

  This traveller was Oliver. He had, we see, already travelled a longdistance.

  Two months only had elapsed, during which, going always straight beforehim, he had traversed all the provinces of the young American republic,never stopping except to rest himself and horse; then he had passed thefrontier and entered the desert.

  Then he was happy. For the first time in his life he was free andunfettered, having cut himself off forever, as he thought, from theheavy trammels of civilisation.

  Oliver had at once begun his apprenticeship as a hunter, and a rudeapprenticeship it is, causing many of the boldest and bravest toretreat. But Oliver was no ordinary man; he was young, of rare vigourand address, and, above all, possessed that iron will which nothingstops, and which is the secret of great deeds; that leonine couragewhich laughs at danger, and that indomitable pride which made him,he thought, the equal of any living being. He therefore considerednothing impossible, that is to say, he felt he could not only do whatanyone else had ever done, but even more, if he were called upon byextraordinary circumstances to try.

  During two months he had met with numerous adventures. He had foughtmany a battle, and braved dangers before which the bravest might haveretreated--perils of all kinds, from man, beast, and Nature herself.

  A victor in every case, his audacity had increased, his energy hadredoubled. His apprentice days were over, and he now felt himself atrue runner of the woods, that is to say, a man whom no appallingsight, whom no dreadful catastrophe, would terrify--in fact, one whowas only to be moved by the majestic aspect of nature.

  He had paused as he left the thicket to examine the scene.

  Before him was a valley through which flowed two rivers, which aftersome time joined and fell into the Missouri, whose vast lake surfaceappeared like a white vapoury line on the distant horizon. Upon apromontory projecting into the first river was a superb bosquet ofpalms and magnolias; the latter, shaped like a perfect cone, stood inlustrous verdure against the dazzling whiteness of the flowers, which,despite the season, were still blooming. These flowers were so largethat Oliver could see them a mile off.

  The great majority of these magnolias were over a hundred feet high;many were very much more.

  To the right was a wood of poplars, overrun with vines of enormoussize, which wholly concealed the trunks. They then ran to the top ofthe tree, then redescending along the branches, passed from one treeto another, mixing up with piquot, a kind of creeper which hung ingarlands and festoons from every bough.

  The young man could not take his eyes off the magnificent spectacle.Suddenly he started, as he made out a thin column of smoke rising fromthe centre of the magnolia thicket.

  Now the presence of smoke denotes fire, and fire indicates humanbeings. In nine cases out of ten, in the desert, such human beings areenemies.

  It is a harsh word, but it is certain that the most cruel enemy of manin the desert, his most terrible adversary, is his fellow man.

  The sight of this smoke roused no excited feelings in the bosom of ouradventurer; he simply saw that his weapons were in order, and rodestraight for the magnolia valley. As it happened, a narrow path ledexactly in that direction.

  No matter whether he was to meet friends or foes, he was not sorry tosee a human face; for a week, not a white man, Metis, or Indian hadfallen across his path, and, despite himself, this complete silence andabsolute solitude began to tell upon him, though he would not own iteven to himself.

  He had passed over about one-third of the distance which separated himfrom the thicket, and was only a pistol shot away, when he suddenlystopped, under the influence of strange emotion.

  A rich and harmonious voice rose from amidst the trees, singing withthe most perfect accent a song with French words. These words cameclear and distinct to his ears; the surprise of the young man may beconceived when he recognised the "Marseillaise." This magnificentwork, sung in the desert by an invisible being, amidst that grandscenery, and repeated as it were by the echoes of the savannah, assumedto him gigantic proportions.

  Despite himself, Oliver felt the tears come to his eyes; he pressedhis hand upon his chest, as if to repress the wild beatings of hisheart; in a second all his past came rushing tumultuously before him.Once more he saw in his mind's eye that France from which he believedhimself forever separated, and felt how vain must ever be the effort torepudiate one's country.

  Led on by the irresistible charm, he entered the thicket just as thesinger gave forth in his rich and stentorian voice the last couplets.

  He pushed aside some branches that checked his progress, and foundhimself face to face with a young man, who, seated on the grass by theriverside, near a glowing fire, was dipping biscuit in the water withone hand, while with the other, in which he held a knife, he dippedinto a tin containing sardines.

  Lifting up his head as the other approached, the unknown nodded hishead.

  "Welcome to my fireside, my friend," he said in French, with a gaysmile; "if you are hungry, eat; if you are cold, warm yourself."

  "I accept your offer," replied Oliver, good-humouredly, as he leapedfrom his horse, and removing the bridle, hoppled him near the unknown.

  He then seated himself by the fire, and opening his saddlebags, sharedhis provisions with his new friend, who frankly accepted this verywelcome addition to his own very modest repast.

  The unknown was a tall young fellow about six feet high, well andsolidly built; his colour, which was very dark, arose from his being ofa mixed race, called from the colour of their skin Bois brule, underwhich general appellation we have half-castes of all kinds.

  The features of this young man, rather younger if anything than ourhero, were intelligent and sympathetic with a very open look; his openforehead, shaded by curly light chestnut hair, his prominent nose, hislarge mouth, furnished with magnificent teeth, his fair rich beard,completed a physiognomy by no means vulgar.

  His costume was that of all the trappers and hunters of high northernlatitudes: mitasses of doeskin, waistcoat of the same, over which wasthrown a blouse of blue linen, ornamented with white and red threads;a cap of beaver fur, and Indian moccasins and leggings reaching tothe knee; from his belt of rattlesnake skin hung a long knife, calledlangue de boeuf, a hatchet, a bison powder horn, a ball bag, and a pipeof red-stone clay with a cherrywood tube; such was the complete costumeof the person upon whom Oliver had so singularly fallen. Close to hishand on the grass was a Kentucky rifle and game bag, which doubtless heused to carry his provisions in.

  "Faith," cried the adventurer, when his appetite was satisfied, "I haveto thank fortune for meeting you in this way, my friend."

  "Such meetings are rare in the desert. And now allow me to ask you aquestion."

  "Ten if you like--nay, fifty."

  "Well, then, how was it that the moment you saw me you addressed me inFrench?" he asked.

  "For a very simple reason. In the first place, all the runners of thewoods, trappers, and prairie hunters, are French, or at all events,ninety-five out of every hundred," he answered.

  "Then of course you are French?"

  "And Norman as well. My grandfather was born at Domfront. You know theproverb, Domfront, city of evil. You enter it at twelve, and are hungbefore one."

  "I
am also French," said Oliver.

  "So I perceive. But to continue. My grandfather was, as I have said,from Domfront, but my father was born in Canada, as I was, so that I ama Frenchman born in America. Still we have the old country on the otherside of the water, and all who come from it are received with open armsby us poor exiles. There are brave and noble hearts in Canada; if theyonly knew it in France they would not be so ungrateful and disdainfultowards us, who never did anything to justify their cruel desertion."

  "True," said Oliver, "France was very much in the wrong after you hadshed so much blood for her."

  "Which we would do again tomorrow," replied the Canadian. "Is notFrance our mother, and do we not always forgive our mother? TheEnglish were awfully taken in when the country was handed over tothem; three-fourths of the population emigrated, those who remained inthe towns persisted in speaking French, which no Englishman can speakwithout dislocating his jaws, and all would insist upon being governedby their old French laws.[1] You see, therefore, that the insulars aremerely nominally our masters, but that in reality we are still free,and French."

  "Our country must have been deeply rooted in your hearts to cause youto speak thus," said Oliver.

  "We are a brave people," cried the stranger.

  "I am sure of it," responded Oliver.

  "Thank you," replied the stranger, "you cause me great pleasure."

  "Now that we know one another as countrymen, suppose we make moreintimate acquaintance?"

  "I ask nothing better. If you like, I will tell you my history asbriefly as possible."

  "I am attention," said Oliver.

  "My father was a baby when Canada was definitively abandoned in 1758by the French, an act which was perpetrated without consulting thepopulation of New France. Had the mother country have done so, it wouldhave been met by a flat refusal. But I will avoid politics, and speakonly of my family."

  "Good. I hate politics."

  "So do I. Well, one day my grandfather Berger, after being absent aweek, came to his home in Quebec in company with an Indian in his fullwar paint. The first thing he saw, standing by the side of the cradlein which lay my father, was my grandmother, her arms raised in theair, with a heavy iron-dog, with which she was menacing an Englishsoldier; my grandmother was a brave and courageous woman."

  "So it seems."

  "A true daughter of Caudebec, handsome, attractive, and good, adoredby her husband, and respected by all who knew her. It appears thatthe English soldier had seen her through the open door. He at onceentered with a conquering air, and began to make love to the prettyyoung person he had noticed performing her maternal office. It wasan unfortunate idea for him. My grandfather lifted him up and threwhim through the window on to the stones outside. He was dead. Mygrandfather then turned round and spoke of something else."

  "A tough old gentleman!"

  "Pretty solid. He even had Indian blood--"

  "You spoke of Domfront."

  "Yes; but his father, having come to America with Comtesse de Villiers,married in Canada. He shortly after returned to France with his wife.There she died, unable to bear the climate!"

  "Very natural," said Oliver.

  "Before dying she made her husband promise to send his son to Canada."

  "But," continued Oliver, "the finale of your history."

  "As soon as that matter was settled, my grandfather embraced hiswife, offered the Indian a seat, and began smoking his pipe. He thenexplained that he meant to leave Canada."

  "'This,' he said, 'is Kouha-hande, my mother's brother, the firstsachem of his nation. He has offered me a shelter with his warriors,and has come with some of his warriors to escort us. Will you remaina Frenchwoman and follow me, or will you stay here and become anEnglishwoman?'"

  "'I am your wife, and shall follow you wherever you go, with my littleone on my back,' she answered."

  "'My sister will be loved and respected in our tribe as she deserves tobe,' remarked the Indian, who had hitherto smoked his pipe in silence."

  "'I know it, my cousin,' she said."

  "No further words passed. My grandmother began at once to pack up. Twohours later the house was empty; my grandparents had left without evenshutting the door behind them. Before sunset they were making their wayup the Lawrence, in the canoes of Kouha-hande."

  "The river was crowded with fugitives. After a journey of four daysmy grandfather reached the tribe of the Hurons-Bisons, of which ourrelative Kouha-hande was the first sachem. Many other Canadians soughtrefuge in the same place, and were hospitably received by the Indians.I need say nothing more save that we have lived there ever since."

  "And your grandfather?"

  "Still lives, as does my father, though I have recently lost my motherand grandmother. I have a sister much younger than myself. She remainsin the village to nurse my grandfather. My father is at this momentwith the Hudson Bay Company."

  At this moment there was a peculiar rustling in the bushes at no greatdistance.

  "Be quiet," whispered the Canadian in the ear of his new friend, andbefore the other could in any way interfere with him, he seized his gunand disappeared in the high grass, crawling on his hands and knees.

  Then a shot was heard.

  [1] This is history as told by a Frenchman. As a matter of fact, theFrench Canadians remained where they were, until they became the mostloyal subjects the British Crown possesses.--Editor.