The Buffalo Runners: A Tale of the Red River Plains. Robert Michael Ballantyne
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face anxiously, for Dan had seated himself once more to his food, but seemed unable to deal with it properly. “Why, you’ve got the knife and fork in the wrong hands, Dan! You must have an hour’s rest before we start.”
“Impossible,” returned the other with a dazed look, as he seized a mug of water and drank it off. “An hour’s delay may mean death to Elspie and old Duncan McKay.”
“But let me start off at once,” returned Peter, eagerly. “I’ve a pretty good guess, from your description, where you left them. Besides, the gale is not so bad now. After an hour’s sleep you will be able to start fresh, maybe overtake me. Jess will be sure to waken you in—”
He stopped, for his brother’s head had bent slowly forward while he was speaking, and now rested on his arms on the table. The worn-out man was sound asleep.
“Just leave him, Peter, and be off wi’ the dogs,” said Mrs Davidson. “Okématan will keep you in the right track. I’ll be sure to wake him in time to catch you up.”
“No, mother, not without his leave,” said the youth, firmly. “Dan! Dan! rouse up, old boy! Shall we start without you?”
“Yes, yes—I’m ready,” said the poor fellow, starting up and swaying to and fro like a drunken man; “but—I say, Peter, I’m done for. I depend on you, lad, to keep me up to the scratch. Lay the dog-whip across my shoulders if I try to lie down. Promise me that. D’ee hear!”
“Yes, I understand,” returned the youth with intense earnestness. “Now look here, Dan, you know me: will you trust me?”
“Of course I will,” answered Dan with a languid smile.
“Well, then; come along, we’ll rescue Elspie—you may depend on that. Okématan and I will look after you and see that all goes right. Come.”
He took his brother by the arm, and led him unresistingly away, followed by the dark-skinned Indian, who, with the usual reticence of his race, had stood like a brown statue, silently observing events.
Jessie Davidson, who was a fair and comely maiden, touched him on the arm as he was passing out—
“Oh! take care of him, Okématan,” she said, anxiously.
Okématan replied “Ho!” in a sort of grunt. It was an expressively uttered though not very comprehensible reply; but Jessie was satisfied, for she knew the man well, as he had for a considerable time been, not exactly a servant of the house, but a sort of self-appointed hanger-on, or unpaid retainer. For an Indian, he was of a cheerful disposition and made himself generally useful.
When they were outside, it was found that the gale had abated considerably, and that the moon was occasionally visible among the clouds which were driving wildly athwart the heavens, as though the elemental war which had ceased to trouble the earth were still raging in the sky.
“Peter,” said the brother, as they stood for a moment beside two Indian sledges, one of which was laden with provisions, the other empty—“Peter, don’t forget your promise. Lay the whip on heavy. Nothing else will keep me awake!”
“All right! Sit down there for a moment. We’re not quite ready yet.”
“I’d better not. No! I will stand till it’s time to start,” returned Dan with a dubious shake of his head.
“Didn’t you say you would trust me?”
“Yes, I did, old boy.”
“Does it look like trusting me to refuse the very first order I give you? What an example to Okématan! I am in command, Dan. Do as you’re bid, sir, and sit down.”
With a faint smile, and a still more dubious shake of the head, Dan obeyed. He sat down on the empty sledge and the expected result followed. In a few seconds he was asleep.
“Now we’ll pack him in tight,” observed his brother, as he and the Indian stretched the sleeper at full length on the sledge, wrapped him completely up in the warm buffalo-robes, and lashed him down in such a way that he resembled a mummy, with nothing visible of him except his mouth and nose.
Four strong large dogs were attached to each sledge in tandem fashion, each dog having a little collar and harness of its own. No reins were necessary. A track beaten in the soft snow with his snow-shoes by the Indian, who stepped out in front, was guide enough for them; and a tail-line attached to the rear of each sledge, and held by the drivers, sufficed to restrain them when a stretch of hard snow or ice tempted them to have a scamper.
The road thus beaten over the prairie by Okématan, though a comparatively soft one, was by no means smooth, and the rough motion would, in ordinary circumstances, have rendered sleep impossible to our hero; but it need hardly be said that it failed to disturb him on the present occasion. He slept like an infant throughout the whole night; cared nothing for the many plunges down the prairie waves, and recked not of the frequent jerks out of the hollows.
Hour after hour did Peter Davidson with his silent companion trudge over the monotonous plains—hope in the ascendant, and vigour, apparently, inexhaustible. The dogs, too, were good and strong. A brief halt now and then of a few minutes sufficed to freshen them for every new start. Night passed away, and daylight came in with its ghostly revelations of bushes that looked like bears or buffaloes, and snow-wreaths that suggested the buried forms of frozen men.
Then the sun arose and scattered these sombre visions of early morning with its gladdening, soul-reviving rays.
At this point the rescue-party chanced to have reached one of those bluffs of woodland which at that time speckled the plains—though they were few indeed and far between.
“Breakfast,” said Peter, heaving a profound sigh as he turned about and checked the teams, for at that point he happened to be in advance beating the track.
Okématan expressed his entire concurrence with an emphatic “Ho!” The wearied dogs lay down in their tracks, shot out their tongues, panted, and looked amiable, for well they knew the meaning of the word “breakfast” and the relative halt.
The sudden stoppage awoke the sleeper, and he struggled to rise.
“Hallo! What’s wrong? Where am I? Have the Redskins got hold o’ me at last?”
“Ay, that they have. At least one Red-skin has got you,” said Peter. “Have a care, man, don’t struggle so violently. Okématan won’t scalp you.”
The sound of his brother’s voice quieted Davidson, and at once restored his memory.
“Cast me loose, Peter,” he said; “you’re a good fellow. I see you have brought me along wi’ you, and I feel like a giant refreshed now, tho’ somewhat stiff. Have we come far?”
“I don’t know how far we’ve come, but I know that we’ve been pegging along the whole night, and that we must have breakfast before we take another step. It’s all very well for you, Dan, to lie there all night like a mere bag o’ pemmican enjoying yourself, but you must remember that your brother is mortal, and so are the dogs, to say nothing o’ the Red-skin.”
While he was speaking, the youth undid the fastenings, and set his brother free, but Dan was far too anxious to indulge in pleasantries just then. After surveying the landscape, and coming to a conclusion as to where they were, he took a hurried breakfast of dried meat—cold. The dogs were also treated to a hearty feed, and then, resuming the march, the rescuers pushed on with renewed vigour—Dan Davidson now beating the track, and thus rendering it more easy for those who came behind him.
All that day they pushed on almost without halt, and spent the next night in a clump of willows; but Dan was too anxious to take much rest. They rose at the first sign of daybreak, and pushed on at their utmost speed, until the poor dogs began to show signs of breaking down; but an extra hour of rest, and a full allowance of food kept them up to the mark, while calm weather and clear skies served to cheer them on their way.
Chapter Four.
Tells of Love, Duty, Starvation, and Murder
Pushing on ahead of them, with that sometimes