R. M. Ballantyne
Silver Lake
Chapter One.
The Hunters
It was on a cold winter morning long ago, that Robin Gore, a bold hunter of the backwoods of America, entered his parlour and sat him down to breakfast.
Robins parlour was also his dining-room, and his drawing-room, besides being his bedroom and his kitchen. In fact, it was the only room in his wooden hut, except a small apartment, opening off it, which was a workshop and lumber-room.
Robins family consisted of himself, and his wife, and his son Roy, who was twelve years of ageand his daughter Nelly, who was eight, or thereabout. In addition to these, his household comprised a nephew, Walter and an Irishman, Larry ODowd. 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 backwoods settlement, had grown up and married in the little hamlet in which he had been born, and hunted around it contentedly until he was forty years of age. But, as population increased, he became restive. He disliked restraint; resolved to take his wife and family into the wilderness and after getting his nephew and an Irish adventurer to agree to accompany him, carried his resolution into effect.
He travelled several hundreds of miles into the woodsbeyond the most remote settlementbuilt three wooden huts, surrounded them with a tall stockade, set up a flagstaff in the centre thereof, and styled the whole affair, Fort Enterprise.
Im sorry to bring you to such a lonesome spot, Molly, my dear, said Robin, as he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree on the afternoon of the day on which he arrived at the scene of his future home; itll be rayther tryin at first, but youll soon get used to it, and we wont be bothered hereaway wi all the new-fangled notions o settlement folk. Well dwell in the free wilderness, where there are no tyrannical laws to hamper a man, an no nonsensical customs to fix the fashion of his coat an leggins. Besides, youll have Roy an Nelly an Walter an Larry to keep you company, lass, not to mention our neighbours to look in upon now and again.
Very true, Robin, replied the wife, I have no doubt it will be quite cheery and homelike in course of time.
She looked out upon the broad bosom of the lake which lay before the site of their forest home, and sighed. It was evident that Mrs Gore had a strong partiality for the laws and customs which her husband abhorred.
The neighbours to whom Robin referred lived in a leather tent twenty miles distant from the Fort. They were an Indian, named The Black Swan, his wife, named The White Swan, and a half-caste trapper, whose proper name was unknown to all save himself. His cognomen in the wilderness was Slugs, a name which originated in his frequent use of clipped 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 and sat him down to breakfast.
It was not only coldvery cold; colder than ever was experienced in our favoured British islesbut it was also very dark. Robin had risen before daybreak in order to visit his traps, and shoot some game as early in the day as possible. The larder chanced to be nearly empty that day, a fact which was all the more to be regretted that it was New Years day, and, as Robin remarked, that day didnt occur more than once in the year. This statement Larry ODowd disputed, affirming that it occurred at laste twice ivery yearwance at the beginnin an wance at the end of it!
Come along, lad, said Robin, trimming the candle as his nephew Walter entered, well ha to make the most of our time to-day, for we dine at sharp five p.m., an our dinnerleastwise the most of itis at this moment alive an kickin, if its not sleepin, in the forest, and has got 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 bears meat with which the hunter was regaling himself.
Nonsense, boy, said Robin, somewhat gruffly.
Youll not be able to keep up with us, added Walter, for weve little time 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 his boy determined to attempt an expedition which he knew from experience would be very trying to a lad of his years.
Breakfast over, the three hunters clothed themselves in habiliments suitable to the climateleathern coats and trousers which were impervious to the wind; cloth leggings to keep the snow from the trousers; leather mocassins, or shoes with three pairs of blanket socks inside of them; fur-caps with ear-pieces; leather mittens with an apartment for the fingers and a separate chamber for the thumb, powder-horns, shot-pouches, guns, and snow-shoes. These latter were light wooden frames, netted across with deerskin threads, about five feet long and upwards of a foot wide. The shoes were of this enormous size, in order that they might support the wearers on the surface of the snow, which was, on an average, four feet deep in the woods. They were clumsy 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 Fort Enterprise. Robin went first and beat the track, Walter followed in his footsteps, Roy brought up the rear. The father sank about six inches at every step, but the snow which fell upon his snow-shoes was so fine and dry, owing to the intense frost, that it fell through the net-work of the shoes like dust. Walter and Roy, treading in the footsteps, had less 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 swamp and plain, through brush and break, until near noon, when they halted for rest and refreshment. While Walter cut firewood, Robin and Roy cleared away the snow, using their snow-shoes as shovels, and prepared their meal. It was simple; a few mouthfuls of dried meat and a tin can of hot teathe backwoodsmans greatest luxury, next to his pipe. It was short, too. Half an hour sufficed to prepare and consume it.
Lets see, now, what we have got, said Robin, counting the game before resuming 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 cant eat all that.
Surely we wont eat the foxes and wolves! cried Roy, laughing.
Not till were starvin, replied his father. Come, lets go onare ye tired, lad?
Fresh as Walter, said the boy, proudly.
Well, we wont try you too much. Well just take a sweep round by the Wolfs Glen, an look at the traps thereafter which make for home and have our New Years dinner. Go ahead, Walter, and beat the track; it is your turn this time.
Without speaking, Walter slipped his feet into the lines of his snow-shoes, extinguished his pipe, and led the way once more through the pathless forest.
Chapter Two.
The Starved Indian
In the depths of the same forest, and not far from the locality to which we have introduced our reader, a Red Indian was dragging his limbs wearily along over the untrodden snow.