Silver Lake

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  SILVER LAKE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  THE HUNTERS.

  It was on a cold winter morning long ago, that Robin Gore, a bold hunterof the backwoods of America, entered his parlour and sat him down tobreakfast.

  Robin's parlour was also his dining-room, and his drawing-room, besidesbeing his bedroom and his kitchen. In fact, it was the only room in hiswooden hut, except a small apartment, opening off it, which was aworkshop and lumber-room.

  Robin's family consisted of himself, and his wife, and his son Roy, whowas twelve years of age--and his daughter Nelly, who was eight, orthereabout. In addition to these, his household comprised a nephew,Walter and an Irishman, Larry O'Dowd. The former was tall, strong,fearless, and twenty. The latter was stout, short, powerful, and forty.

  The personal history of Robin Gore, to the point at which we take it up,runs briefly thus:--

  He had been born in a backwood's settlement, had grown up and married inthe little hamlet in which he had been born, and hunted around itcontentedly until he was forty years of age. But, as populationincreased, he became restive. He disliked restraint; resolved to takehis wife and family into the wilderness and, after getting his nephewand an Irish adventurer to agree to accompany him, carried hisresolution into effect.

  He travelled several hundreds of miles into the woods--beyond the mostremote settlement--built three wooden huts, surrounded them with a tallstockade, set up a flagstaff in the centre thereof, and styled the wholeaffair, "Fort Enterprise."

  "I'm sorry to bring you to such a lonesome spot, Molly, my dear," saidRobin, as he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, on the afternoon of theday on which he arrived at the scene of his future home; "it'll berayther tryin' at first, but you'll soon get used to it, and we won't bebothered hereaway wi' all the new-fangled notions o' settlement folk.We'll dwell in the free wilderness, where there are no tyrannical lawsto hamper a man, an' no nonsensical customs to fix the fashion of hiscoat an' leggins. Besides, you'll have Roy an' Nelly an' Walter an'Larry to keep you company, lass, not to mention our neighbours to lookin upon now and again."

  "Very true, Robin," replied the wife, "I have no doubt it will be quitecheery and homelike in course of time."

  She looked out upon the broad bosom of the lake which lay before thesite of their forest home, and sighed. It was evident that Mrs Gorehad a strong partiality for the laws and customs which her husbandabhorred.

  The "neighbours" to whom Robin referred lived in a leather tent twentymiles distant from the Fort. They were an Indian, named "The BlackSwan," his wife, named "The White Swan," and a half-caste trapper, whoseproper name was unknown to all save himself. His cognomen in thewilderness was "Slugs," a name which originated in his frequent use ofclipped pieces of lead instead of shot in the loading of his gun.

  But to return to the point from which we started:--

  It was on a cold winter morning that Robin Gore entered his parlour andsat him down to breakfast.

  It was not only cold--very cold; colder than ever was experienced in ourfavoured British isles--but it was also very dark. Robin had risenbefore daybreak in order to visit his traps, and shoot some game asearly in the day as possible. The larder chanced to be nearly emptythat day, a fact which was all the more to be regretted that it was NewYear's day, and, as Robin remarked, "that day didn't occur more thanonce in the year." This statement Larry O'Dowd disputed, affirming thatit occurred "at laste twice ivery year--wance at the beginnin' an' wanceat the end of it!"

  "Come along, lad," said Robin, trimming the candle as his nephew Walterentered, "we'll ha' to make the most of our time to-day, for we dine atsharp five p.m., an' our dinner--leastwise the most of it--is at thismoment alive an' kickin', if it's not sleepin', in the forest, and hasgot to be found and shot yet. Hallo! boy, where are _you_ bound for?"

  "For the woods, father, with you and Walter," replied his son Roy,sitting down and coolly helping himself to a portion of bear's meat,with which the hunter was regaling himself.

  "Nonsense, boy," said Robin, somewhat gruffly.

  "You'll not be able to keep up with us," added Walter, "for we've littletime before us, an' a long way to go."

  "If I break down I can turn back," retorted Roy.

  "Very good; please yourself;" said Robin in a tone of indifference,although his glance seemed to indicate that he was not sorry to see hisboy determined to attempt an expedition which he knew from experiencewould be very trying to a lad of his years.

  Breakfast over, the three hunters clothed themselves in habilimentssuitable to the climate--leathern coats and trousers which wereimpervious to the wind; cloth leggings to keep the snow from thetrousers; leather mocassins, or shoes with three pairs of blanket socksinside of them; fur-caps with ear-pieces; leather mittens with anapartment for the fingers and a separate chamber for the thumb,powder-horns, shot-pouches, guns, and snow-shoes. These latter werelight wooden frames, netted across with deerskin threads, about fivefeet long and upwards of a foot wide. The shoes were of this enormoussize, in order that they might support the wearers on the surface of thesnow, which was, on an average, four feet deep in the woods. They wereclumsy to look at, but not so difficult to walk in as one might suppose.

  In silence the three hunters entered the dark woods in front of FortEnterprise. Robin went first and beat the track, Walter followed in hisfootsteps, Roy brought up the rear. The father sank about six inches atevery step, but the snow which fell upon his snow-shoes was so fine anddry, owing to the intense frost, that it fell through the net-work ofthe shoes like dust. Walter and Roy, treading in the footsteps, hadless labour in walking, but Walter, being almost as strong as his uncle,took his turn at beating the track every two hours.

  Through the woods they went, over mound and hollow, across frozen swampand plain, through brush and break, until near noon, when they haltedfor rest and refreshment. While Walter cut firewood, Robin and Roycleared away the snow, using their snow-shoes as shovels, and preparedtheir meal. It was simple; a few mouthfuls of dried meat and a tin canof hot tea--the backwoodsman's greatest luxury, next to his pipe. Itwas short, too. Half an hour sufficed to prepare and consume it.

  "Let's see, now, what we have got," said Robin, counting the game beforeresuming the march.

  "More than enough," said Walter, lighting his pipe for a hurried whiff,"ten brace of white grouse, four rabbits, six red foxes and a black one,and two wolves. We can't eat all that."

  "Surely we won't eat the foxes and wolves!" cried Roy, laughing.

  "Not till we're starvin'," replied his father. "Come, let's go on--areye tired, lad?"

  "Fresh as Walter," said the boy, proudly.

  "Well, we won't try you too much. We'll just take a sweep round by theWolf's Glen, an' look at the traps there--after which make for home andhave our New Year's dinner. Go ahead, Walter, and beat the track; it isyour turn this time."

  Without speaking, Walter slipped his feet into the lines of hissnow-shoes, extinguished his pipe, and led the way once more through thepathless forest.