we must return now to robin gore and his wife, who, on the morning on which we re-introduce them to the reader, were standing in the trading store of fort enterprise, conversing earnestly with black, the indian, who has been already mentioned at the beginning of our tale. the wife of the latter—the white swan—was busily engaged in counting over the pack of furs that lay open on the counter, absorbed, apparently, in an abstruse calculation as to how many yards of cloth and strings of beads they would purchase.
“well, i’m glad that’s fixed, anyhow,” said robin to his wife, as he turned to the indian with a satisfied air, and addressed him in his native tongue, “it’s a bargain, then, that you an’ slugs go with me on this expedition, is’t so?”
“the black swan is ready,” replied the indian, quietly, “and he thinks that slugs will go too—but the white hunter is self-willed; he has a mouth—ask himself.”
“ay, ye don’t like to answer for him,” said robin, with a smile; “assuredly slugs has his own notions, and holds to ’em; but i’ll ask him. he is to be here this night, with a deer, i hope, for there are many mouths to fill.”
black swan, who was a tall, taciturn, and powerful indian, here glanced at his wife, who was, like most indian women, a humble-looking and not very pretty or clean creature. turning again to robin, he said, in a low, soft voice—
“the white swan is not strong, and she is not used to be alone.”
“i understand you,” said robin; “she shall come to the fort, and be looked after. you won’t object to take her in, molly, when we’re away?”
“object, robin,” said molly, with a smile, which was accompanied by a sigh, “i’ll only be too glad to have her company.”
“well, then, that’s settled; and now, black swan, i may as well tell you what coorse i mean to follow out in this sarch for my child’n. you know already that four white men—strangers—have come to the fort, an’ are now smokin’ their pipes in the hall, but you don’t know that one on ’em is my own brother jefferson; jeff, i’ve bin used to call him. jeff’s bin a harem-scarem feller all his life—active and able enough, an’ good natur’d too, but he never could stick to nothin’, an’ so he’s bin wanderin’ about the world till grey hairs have begun to show on him, without gettin’ a home or a wife. the last thing he tried was stokin’ a steamboat on the mississippi; but the boat blew up, pitched a lot o’ the passengers into the water, an’ the rest o’ them into the next world. jeff was always in luck with his life; he’s lost everythin’ over an’ over again but that. he was one o’ the lot as was blowed into the water, so, when he come up he swamed ashore, an’ come straight away here to visit me, bringin’ three o’ the blowed-up passengers with him. the three are somethin’ like himself; good for nothin’; an’ i’d rather have their room than their company at most times. hows’ever, just at this time i’m very glad they’ve come, for i’ll leave them in charge o’ the fort, and set off to look for the child’n in two days from this. i’ll take walter and larry wi’ me, for brother jeff is able enough to manage the trade if redskins come; he can fight too, if need be. the gore family could always do that, so ye needn’t be afraid, molly.”
“i’ll not be afraid, robin, but i’ll be anxious about ye.”
“that’s nat’ral, lass, but it can’t be helped. well, then,” continued robin, “the five of us will start for the black hills. i’ve bin told by a redskin who comed here last week that he an’ his tribe had had a scrimmage with hawk an’ the reptiles that follow him. he says that there was a white boy an’ a white girl with hawk’s party, an’ from his account of ’em i’m sartin sure it’s my roy and nelly. god help ’em! ‘but,’ says he, ‘they made their escape durin’ the attack, an’ we followed our enemies so far that we didn’t think it worth while to return to look for ’em, so i’m convinced they made for the black hills, nigh which hawk was attacked, an’ if we follow ’em up there we may find ’em alive yet, mayhap.’”
poor robin’s voice became deeper and less animated as he spoke, and the last word was uttered with hesitation and in a whisper.
“o robin, robin!” exclaimed mrs gore, throwing her arms suddenly round her husband’s neck, and hiding her sobbing face in his breast, “d’ye think they can still be alive?”
“come, molly,” said robin, commanding his feelings with a great effort, “han’t ye often read to me that wi’ god all things is possible?”
the poor woman thanked god in her heart, for up to that day robin had never once quoted scripture in his efforts to comfort her.
“was wapaw with hawk when they were attacked?” inquired the black swan.
“wapaw is dead,” said a deep voice, as the huge form of a western hunter darkened the little doorway, and the next moment slugs strode into the store, and quietly seated himself on the counter.
“dead!” exclaimed robin, as he shook the hunter’s proffered hand.
“ay, dead! have ye no word of welcome for a chum after a month’s absence?” said slugs, holding out his horny hand to the black swan, who gravely grasped and shook it.
“you redskins are a queer lot,” said slugs, with a grin, “yer as stiff as a rifle ramrod to look at, but there’s warm and good stuff in ’ee for all that.”
“but what about wapaw?” inquired mrs gore, anxiously; “surely he’s not dead.”
“if he’s not dead he’s not livin’, for i saw hawk himself, not four weeks ago, shoot him and follow him up with his tomahawk, and then heard their shout as they killed him. where did he say he was goin’ when he left you?”
“he said he would go down to the settlements to see the missionaries, an’ that he thought o’ lookin’ in on the fur-traders that set up a fort last year, fifty miles to the south’ard o’ this.”
“ay, just so,” said slugs; “i was puzzled to know what he was doin’ thereaway, and that explains it. he’s dead now, an’ so are the fur-traders he went to see. i’ll tell ye all about it if you’ll give me baccy enough to fill my pipe. i ran out o’t three days agone, an’ ha’ bin smokin’ tea-leaves an’ bark, an’ all sorts o’ trash. thank ’ee; that’s a scent more sweet nor roses.”
as he said this the stout hunter cut up the piece of tobacco which robin at once handed to him, and rolled it with great zest between his palms. when the pipe was filled and properly lighted, he leaned his back against an unopened bale of goods that lay on the counter, and drawing several whiffs, began his narrative.
“you must know that i made tracks for the noo fur-tradin’ post when i left you, black swan, about a month ago. i hadn’t much of a object; it was mainly cooriosity as took me there. i got there all right, an’ was sittin’ in the hall chattin’ wi’ the head man—macdonell they called him—about the trade and the injuns. macdonell’s two little child’n was playin’ about, a boy an’ a girl, as lively as kittens, an’ his wife—a good-lookin’ young ’ooman—was lookin’ arter ’em, when the door opens, and in stalks a long-legged injun. it was wapaw. down he sat in front o’ the fireplace, an’ after some palaver an’ a pipe—for your injuns’ll never tell all they’ve got to say at once—he tells macdonell that there was a dark plot hatchin’ agin’ him—that hawk, a big rascal of his own tribe, had worked upon a lot o’ reptiles like hisself, an’ they had made up their minds to come an’ massacre everybody at the fort, and carry off the goods.
“at first macdonell didn’t seem to believe the injun, but when i told him i knowed him, an’ that he was a trustworthy man, he was much troubled, an’ in doubt what to do. now, it’s quite clear to me that hawk must have somehow found out or suspected that wapaw was goin’ to ’peach on him, an’ that he had followed his trail close up; for in less than an hour arter wapaw arrived, an’ while we was yet sittin’ smokin’ by the fire, there was a most tremendous yell outside. i know’d it for the war-whoop o’ the redskins, so i jumped up an’ cocked my rifle. the others jumped up too, like lightnin’; an’ mrs macdonell she got hold o’ her girlie in her arms an’ was runnin’ across the hall to her own room, when the door was knocked off its hinges, and fell flat on the floor. before it had well-nigh fallen i got sight o’ somethin’, an’ let drive. the yell that follered told me i had spoilt somebody’s aim. a volley was poured on us next moment, an’ a redskin jumped in, but wapaw’s tomahawk sent him out again with a split skull. before they could reload—for the stupid fools had all fired together—i had the door up, and a heavy table shoved agin it. then i turned round, to load agin; while i was doin’ this, i observed poor macdonell on his knees beside his wife, so i went to them an’ found that the wife an’ girl were stone dead—both shot through the heart with the same ball.
“as soon as macdonell saw this he rose up quietly, but with a look on his face sich as i never see in a man ’xcept when he means to stick at nothin’. he got hold of his double-barrelled gun, an’ stuck a scalpin’ knife an’ an axe in his belt.
“‘git on my back, tommy,’ says he to his little boy, who was cryin’ in a corner.
“tommy got up at once, an’ jumped on his dad’s back. all this time the redskins were yellin’ round the house like fiends, an’ batterin’ the door, so that it was clear it couldn’t stand long.
“‘friends,’ said he turnin’ to me an’ wapaw, an’ a poor terrified chap that was the only one o’ his men as chanced to be in the house at the time, ‘friends, it’s every man for himself now; i’ll cut my way though them, or—’. he stopped short, an’ took hold o’ his axe in one hand, an’ his gun in the other. ‘are ye ready?’ says he. we threw forward our rifles an’ cocked ’em; macdonell—he was a big, strong man—suddenly upset the table; the savages dashed in the door with sich force that three or four o’ ’em fell sprawlin’ on the floor. we jumped over these before they could rise, and fired a volley, which sent three or four o’ the reptiles behind on their backs. we got into the bush without a scratch, an’ used our legs well, i can tell ’ee. they fired a volley after us, which missed us all except poor tommy. a bullet entered his brain, an’ killed him dead. for some time his father would not drop him, though i told him he was quite dead; but his weight kept him from runnin’ fast, an’ we heard the redskins gainin’ on us, so at last macdonell put the boy down tenderly under a bush. me and wapaw stopped to fire an’ keep the reptiles back, but they fired on us, and wapaw fell. i tried to lift him, but he struggled out o’ my arms. poor fellow! he was a brave man; and i’ve no doubt did it a-purpose, knowin’ that i couldn’t run fast enough with him. just then i saw hawk come jumpin’ and yellin’ at us, followed by two or three dozen redskins, all flourishin’ their tomahawks. macdonell and me turned to die fightin’ alongside o’ our red comrade, but wapaw suddenly sprang up, uttered a shout of defiance, an’ dashed into the bush. the injuns were after him in a moment, and before we could get near them a yell of triumph told us that it was too late, so we turned and bolted in different directions.
“i soon left them behind me, but i hung about the place for a day or two to see if macdonell should turn up, or any of his men. i even went back to the fort after the reptiles had left it. they had burned it down, an’ i saw parts o’ the limbs o’ the poor wife and child lyin’ among the half-burned goods that they weren’t able to carry away with them.”
