The Big Otter

“Masqua,” he said to the first Indian he chanced to meet at the moment of quitting the last wigwam, “Attick has carried off Waboose. Assemble some of the young men. Choose only the strong, and those whose horses are swift. Go yourself with your son Mozwa—gallop round the camp till you find in which direction they have gone—then return to me at the council tent and wait.”

Masqua understood the value of prompt obedience. Without a word of reply he turned and bounded away.

Big Otter hurried to the council tent, where old Muskrat was already surrounded by his chiefs. There was less than usual of the grave deliberation of North American Indians in that meeting, for the case was urgent. Nevertheless, there was no bustle, for each bronzed warrior knew that the young men would require a little time to hunt up the trail of the fugitives, mingled as it must be with the innumerable footprints of man and beast in the neighbourhood of a camp; and, until that trail was found, they might as well deliberate calmly—especially as all the men met at the council armed, and ready to vault on the steeds which were already pawing the earth outside. These horses were restrained by youths who longed for the time when they too might be styled braves, and meet in council.

“Is all prepared?” asked the old chief, as Big Otter entered the tent.

“The young men are out,” was the curt reply.

“Good. The night is dark, but my warriors have sharp eyes, and the moon will rise soon. No effort must be spared. The daughter of Weeum the Good must be brought back. It is not necessary to bring back Attick or his men. Their scalps will do as well.”

“Waugh!” pronounced with much emphasis showed that the old man’s words were not only understood, but thoroughly appreciated.

At this moment occurred the second event which I have said was the cause of surprise in the camp that night, if not of commotion. While the old chief was yet speaking, his words were checked by the sound of horses’ hoofs beating heavily on the prairie.

“The young men,” said Muskrat; “they have been swift to find the trail.”

“Young men in haste bringing news do not trot,” said Big Otter.

“Waugh!” assented the council.

“There are but two riders,” murmured the chief, listening intently to the pattering sounds, which rapidly grew louder.

He was right, for, a few seconds later, two horsemen were seen to trot into the camp, and make straight for the council fire. Some of the Indians had turned out with arms ready as they approached, but on hearing a word or two from one of the riders, they quietly let them pass.

Pulling up sharply, one of the strangers leaped to the ground, flung his reins to the other, and entered the council tent where he was received with looks of surprise, and with the ejaculation from Big Otter of the single word “Muxbee!”

Yes, good reader, that stranger was none other than myself, and my companion was Salamander. To account for our sudden appearance I must explain.

On returning to Fort Wichikagan four days after Big Otter had left, and hearing what had occurred, I told Lumley I would follow in pursuit and fetch Waboose back. He remonstrated, of course, but in vain.

“You know that a sacred trust has been imposed upon me,” said I, earnestly, “and I have resolved to fulfil it. The manner in which I should set about it has perplexed me sorely, I confess, but this sudden departure relieves me, at all events, from uncertainty as to my present course of duty. If Waboose goes off with the tribe to no one knows where, she may never be found again. You are aware that she is still ignorant of the contents of the packet, and the value of the found treasure. I have kept her so, temporarily, by your advice. If I had told her and her kindred, she would not probably have gone away, but it is too late to regret that, now. By going off at once I may overtake the tribe. Three days’ journey on foot will bring me to Indians who are rich in horses. Once well mounted I can push on, and will easily overtake them if you will lend me Salamander to aid in following up the trail.”

“But what of the service?” asked Lumley, with a sad smile, for he saw I was resolved. “You are not yet free.”

“True, but you know that Spooner is already on his way here to replace me, my resignation having been accepted. In a week, or two at farthest, he will arrive, when I shall be absolutely free to go where I please. Meanwhile, to prevent even a shadow of impropriety, I ask your majesty for a fortnight’s leave of absence to go a-hunting. Surely you won’t refuse so small a favour? I will be sure to find Waboose, and bring her back by that time.”

“Well, Max, my boy, I won’t refuse. Go, and God go with you. I shall expect to see you again in two weeks, if not sooner.”

“Unless, of course, circumstances render my return so soon impossible.”

“Of course, of course,” said Lumley.

Thus we parted, and thus it was that Salamander and I found ourselves at last in the Indian camp. The pursuit, however, had been much longer than I had expected. More than the stipulated fortnight had already passed.

But to return from this digression. After we had looked at each other silently for a few seconds in the council tent, as already described, I advanced to Big Otter and held out my hand. I then shook hands with the old chief, sat down beside him, and expressed a hope that I did not intrude.

“We palaver about the disappearance of Waboose,” said the old chief.

“Disappearance! Waboose!” I exclaimed, turning abruptly to Big Otter.

“Attick has fled,” said the Indian, sternly, “carrying Waboose and her mother along with him.”

“And you sit here idly talking,” I exclaimed, almost fiercely, as I sprang up.

Before I could take action of any kind, the young Indian, Mozwa, entered the tent abruptly, and said a few words to Muskrat. At the same moment the councillors rose.

“We go in pursuit,” whispered Big Otter in my ear. “Mount, and join us.”

Almost bewildered, but feeling perfect confidence in my Indian friend, I ran out, and vaulted into the saddle. Eager and quick though I was, the redskins were mounted as soon as myself. No one seemed to give orders, but with one accord they put their horses to the gallop, and swept out of the camp. The last words of the old chief as we darted off, were—

“Bring her back, my braves, and don’t forget the scalps of Attick and his men!”

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Chase, the Capture, and the Revelation

A stern chase is usually a long one. There are not many proverbs the truth of which comes more powerfully home than this—at least to those who have had the misfortune to engage in many such chases. To make a slant at a fugitive, so as to cut him off, or to make a short cut and head him, is pleasant if you be strong in wind and limb, but to creep up right astern, inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard, and to overcome him at last by sheer superiority and perseverance, is a disheartening task.

That was the task we undertook the night we left the Indian camp, and went off at full gallop over the rolling prairie in pursuit of the scoundrel Attick and his crew.

But Indians are by nature persevering, and, for myself, I was roused to the highest pitch of indignation and anxiety. Salamander and I had ridden far and fast that day, besides which we had eaten only a mouthful of pemmican and biscuit since breakfast; nevertheless, under the excitement of the moment our weariness vanished, our hunger fled, and we engaged in the pursuit with all the ardour of the youngest brave among them.

Fortunately I had secured two exceptionally fine horses, so that they were quite able to compete with the inferior, though fresher, horses of the Indians.

“How long is it since you discovered that they were gone?” said I, as I galloped alongside of Big Otter.

“Not more than an hour,” he replied.

“Do you think they had a long start before that?”

“I cannot tell. Perhaps two hours, perhaps four. Certainly not five, for they were seen in camp when the sun was high.”

I was greatly relieved to learn that they had not got a longer start of us, and very thankful that I had come up in time to join the pursuers. I was calming down somewhat under the influence of these thoughts, when I had a sudden feeling of being shot from a cannon into the air. This was succeeded by a sensation of having my nose converted into a ploughshare, and that was instantly followed by oblivion!

In the uncertain light my steed had put his foot in a badger hole—that was all, but it sufficed to check the pace of the whole party!

On recovering I found my head on Salamander’s knee. I felt dreamy and indifferent. “What has happened?” I asked, in English.

Our interpreter, who had a tendency to answer in whatever language he was addressed—whether English, French, or Indian—replied—

“Yoos bin a-most busted, sar!”

Suddenly the true state of the case flashed upon me. Langour fled. I leaped up, and scrambled somehow into the saddle.

“Have I been long insensible, Salamander?” I asked, as we resumed our headlong pace.

“On’y what time I kin count twinty, sar.”