Wrecked but not Ruined. Robert Michael Ballantyne
Читать онлайн книгу.
opposite to Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods had commenced their squatting operations, ran along the shore at some distance from the entrance to the creek, so that Redding could pass without encountering the newcomers, whom he was anxious to avoid until the question of the invasion of the Fur Company’s rights was settled.
Despite their utmost efforts, night began to close upon the travellers before they reached Bellew’s shanty in Boulder Creek.
“Take care, Monsieur, there is von portion dangereux here,” said François Le Rue.
“Where?” asked Redding, as he checked the pony a little and looked earnestly ahead.
“Ah! dere!” exclaimed Le Rue.
His remark was needless, for at that moment the sleigh turned over a ledge of rock and pitched its occupants into a snow-drift.
“Killded?” gasped the Canadian, as he emerged from the snow with eyes, ears, and nostrils stuffed full; “no—not quite!”
Satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he turned abruptly to look for his companion, whose motionless legs sticking out of the drift were the only visible portions of his body.
Anxiously and swiftly did François drag his master out, and great was his relief when poor Redding looked at him with a bewildered gaze and demanded to know what had happened!
“Oh! I see, capsized,” he said, rising and pressing his hand to his brow, “I believe I must have hit my head against a stump, for I’ve been slightly stunned. However, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Not hurt, François?”
“No, Monsieur,—not fatever.”
“That’s right, lend a hand to lift the sleigh—hoop! there—jump in.”
Le Rue obeyed. The bear-rug was replaced around them, and the pony, which had stood as quiet as a lamb during the accident, started forward again.
“Voilà! von light,” exclaimed the Canadian.
At that moment they had rounded the corner of a high cliff, and come into view of Boulder Creek. There was just light enough to make the chaotic grandeur of the place visible in a ghostly degree. Great boulders and masses of rock, which had fallen from the neighbouring mountains and cliffs, lay piled about in the creek or gully in wildest confusion. Some of these masses were as large as a small hut, but they were of all sizes as well as shapes. It was a weird scene, and forbidding; nevertheless some human being had seen fit to take up his abode there, as was made apparent by the light referred to by Le Rue.
Picking their way carefully among the boulders, the travellers at last reached a log-hut which was so small, weather-worn, and grey, that, from a short distance, it might have easily been mistaken, even in daylight, for one of the rocks by which it was surrounded.
The door stood wide open, and through it streamed the light of a roaring fire of wood. So powerful was the contrast between the ruddy light and the cold grey scene without, that to the approaching travellers it appeared as if the whole interior of the hut glowed with fervent heat.
In the small doorway stood the figure of a man who was so large as almost to fill up the entrance, and so black, by contrast with the glowing background, that neither feature nor form was distinguishable save his sharp outline. The outline, however, was a remarkably telling one. It told of a broad chest and square shoulders, of massive limbs, and an easy air, and a sturdy attitude, and suggested difficulty in the way of entering that hut without leave asked and obtained.
“Hallo!” exclaimed the outline, in a voice so deep that it must have been unfathomable.
“How d’ee do, Bellew?” cried Reginald Redding, as he drove into the stream of light, pulled up, and sprang from the sleigh.
“Hearty, sir, hearty, thank ’ee,” replied the outline, advancing and becoming a little more visible on the surface as he did so. “Hallo! Le Rue, how are ’ee? Glad to see you both. Step in. A good fire on a coldish night is cheery—ain’t it, Mister Redding?”
“Indeed it is, Bellew, especially when the night happens to be also darkish.”
“Ha! oui,” interposed Le Rue, bustling into the hut with the bear-rug, “it vas so darkish dat ve capsize under de cliff an’ a’most knock de whole affair to smattoms—sleigh, cheval, an’ peepil.”
“I’m glad to see that the ‘peepil’ is all right, however,” said Bellew, glancing at his visitors with what may be called a grave smile; “it might have bin worse, for that’s an ugly corner under the cliff, an’ needs careful drivin’ even in daylight.”
“I’ve not come off quite scatheless, however,” said Redding, rubbing the top of his head tenderly, “for here is a bump that would perplex the whole college of phrenologists.”
“Skin broke, sir?” asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part. “No, all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a phrenologist now, I’d name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir; sit down, Le Rue, an’ look after my kettle while I see to your nag.”
So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.
Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic. He was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly humorous disposition. No one knew where he came from or why he had taken up his abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough fellows who hang on the outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they said, to “pump” him on these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or a deep one, for pumping brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood by shooting, fishing, trapping wild animals for their skins, and, sometimes, by doing what he called “odd jobs” in the settlements.
“Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it,” said Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.
“That seems to be the idea of most men who come here,” replied the trapper, “but it’s not many that favour me with a visit.”
“Ha! vraiment, dat must be true,” interposed the Canadian, “for no body vill com’ here ’xcept them as do want hims legs broke.”
“Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came to this location,” said Jonas, “but such accidents occur chiefly among the Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set.”
“Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh,” retorted Le Rue.
“Perhaps you’re right, an’ mayhap you’re wrong, lad, anyway here is supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an’ go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I’ve not found time yet to make chairs, but it’s wonderful how well a man gets along without such luxuries.”
“Especially when a man sits down to a venison-steak like this,” said the fur-trader, taking the offered seat, while his man sat down on a block of wood set on end, and prepared to prove the truth of the trapper’s assertion in regard to French capacity for food.
“’Taint venison,” said Bellew, assisting his companions to the meat in question, “it’s bear.”
“Indeed? and not bad food for a hungry man,” returned Redding, as he began supper. “Where got you him?”
“Down near Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods are setting up their saw-mill.”
“The McLeods!” exclaimed Redding, looking up suddenly, “have you seen the McLeods?”
“Ay, I’ve bin helpin’ them a bit wi’ the mill. Goin’ down again to-morrow. If this weather holds, the ice must give way soon, and then we’ll be able to push ahead faster.”
The trapper said this quietly and without looking up from the bear-steak with which he was busy, so that Redding’s look of surprise appeared to be lost on him. The fur-trader and his man exchanged glances.
For a few minutes the process of mastication completely engrossed the trio, but the thoughts of the