The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  AN ARGUMENT ON ARGUMENTATION--ALSO ON RELIGION--BOUNCE "FEELOSOPHICAL"AGAIN--A RACE CUT SHORT BY A BULLET--FLIGHT AND PURSUIT OF THE REDSKINS.

  When McLeod returned to the square, he found that the trappers hadadjourned with the men of the establishment to enjoy a social pipetogether, and that Theodore Bertram was taking a solitary, meditativepromenade in front of the gate of the fort.

  "You seem in a pensive mood, Mr Bertram," said the fur trader on comingup, "will you not try the soothing effects of a pipe? Our tobacco isgood; I can recommend it."

  He offered a plug of tobacco to the artist as he spoke.

  "Thank you, I do not smoke," said Bertram, declining the profferedluxury. "Tobacco may be good--though I know it not from experience.Yet, methinks, the man is wiser who does not create an unnatural taste,than he who does so for the purpose of gratifying it."

  "Ah! you are a philosopher."

  "If judging of things and questions simply on their own merit, and withthe single object of ascertaining what is truth in regard to them,constitutes a philosopher, I am."

  "Don't you find that men who philosophise in that way are usually deemedan obstinate generation by their fellow-men?" inquired the trader,smiling as he puffed a voluminous cloud from his lips.

  "I do," replied Bertram.

  "And don't you think the charge is just?" continued the other in ajocular tone.

  "I do not," replied the artist. "I think those who call them obstinateare often much more truly deserving of the epithet. Philosophers, inthe popular sense of the word, are men who not only acquire knowledgeand make themselves acquainted with the opinions of others, but who makeindependent use of acquired knowledge, and thus originate new ideas andfrequently arrive at new conclusions. They thus often come to differfrom the rest of mankind on many points, and, having good reasons forthis difference of opinion, they are ever ready to explain and expoundtheir opinions and to prove their correctness, or to receive proof oftheir incorrectness, if that can be given--hence they are calledargumentative. Being unwilling to give up what appears to them to betruth, unless it can be shown to be falsehood, their opinions are noteasily overturned--hence they are called obstinate. Thinking out asubject in a calm, dispassionate, logical manner, from its firstproposition to its legitimate conclusion, is laborious to all. A verylarge class of men and women have no patience for such a process ofinvestigation--hence argumentation, that most noble of all mentalexercises, is deemed a nuisance. Certainly argumentation withunphilosophical persons _is_ a nuisance; but I know of few earthlyenjoyments more gratifying than an argument with a true philosopher."

  "That's wot I says, so I do, out-an'-out," observed Bounce, who had comeup unperceived, and had overheard the greater part of the above remarks."Jist wot I thinks myself, Mr Bertram, only I couldn't 'xactly put itin the same way, d'ye see? That's wot I calls out-an'-out feelosophy."

  "Glad to hear you're such a wise fellow," said McLeod patronisingly."So you agree, of course, with Mr Bertram in condemning the use of thepipe."

  "Condemn the pipe?" said Bounce, pulling out his own special favouriteand beginning to fill it--"wot, condemn smokin'? No, by no meanswotsomdiver. That's quite another kee-westion, wot we hain't bin adisputin' about. I only heer'd Mr Bertram a-talkin' about obst'nitnessan' argementation."

  "Well, in regard to that," said Bertram, "I firmly believe that men andwomen are all alike equally obstinate."

  "Ha!" ejaculated Bounce, with that tone of mingled uncertainty andprofound consideration which indicates an unwillingness to commitoneself in reference to a new and startling proposition.

  "On what grounds do you think so?" asked McLeod.

  "Why on the simple ground that a man _cannot_ change any opinion untilhe is convinced that it is wrong, and that he inevitably must, andactually does, change his opinion on the instant that he is soconvinced; and that in virtue, not of his will, but of the constitutionof his mind. Some men's minds are of such a nature--they take such alimited and weak grasp of things--that they cannot be easily convinced.Others are so powerful that they readily seize upon truth when it ispresented to them; but in either case, the instant the point ofconviction is reached the mind is changed. Pride may indeed prevent theadmission of this change, but it takes place, as I have said,inevitably."

  At this Bounce opened his eyes to their utmost possible width and saidsolemnly, "Wot! do ye mean for to tell me, then, that thair ain't nosich thing as obstinacy?" He accompanied this question with a shake ofthe head that implied that if Bertram were to argue till doomsday hewould never convince him (Bounce) of that.

  "By no means," returned the artist, smiling; "there is plenty of it, butobstinacy does not consist in the simple act of holding one's opinionfirmly."

  "Wot _does_ it consist of, then?"

  "In this--in holding firmly to opinions that have been taken hastily up,without the grounds on which they are founded having been duly weighed;and in refusing to consider these grounds in a philosophical (whichmeans a rational) way, because the process would prove tiresome. Theman who has comfortably settled all his opinions in this way very muchresembles that `fool' of whom it is written that he `is wiser in his ownconceit than seven men who can _render a reason_.'"

  "Well, but, to come back to the starting-point," said McLeod, "many wisemen smoke."

  "If you say that in the way of argument, I meet it with the counterproposition that many wise men _don't_ smoke."

  "Hah!" ejaculated Bounce, but whether Bounce's ejaculation was one ofapproval or disapproval we cannot tell. Neither can we tell whatconclusion these philosophers came to in regard to smoking, because,just then, two horsemen were seen approaching the fort at full speed.

  Seeing that they were alone, McLeod took no precautions to preventsurprise. He knew well enough that Indians frequently approach in thismanner, so waited in front of the gate, coolly smoking his pipe, untilthe savages were within a few yards of him. It seemed as if theypurposed running him down, but just as they came to within a couple ofbounds of him, they drew up so violently as to throw their foamingsteeds on their haunches.

  Leaping to the ground, the Indians--who were a couple of strong,fine-looking savages, dressed in leathern costume, with the usualornaments of bead and quill work, tags, and scalp-locks--came forwardand spoke a few words to McLeod in the Cree language, and immediatelyafter, delivering their horses to the care of one of the men of theestablishment, accompanied him to the store.

  In less than half an hour they returned to the gate, when the Indiansremounted, and, starting away at their favourite pace--full gallop--weresoon out of sight.

  "Them fellows seem to be in a hurry," remarked Bounce as theydisappeared.

  "Ay, they're after mischief too," replied McLeod in a sad tone of voice."They are two Cree chiefs who have come here for a supply of ammunitionto hunt the buffalo, but I know they mean to hunt different game, for Iheard them talking to each other about a war-party of Blood Indiansbeing in this part of the country. Depend upon it scalps will be takenere long. 'Tis a sad, sad state of things. Blood, blood, blood seemsto be the universal cry here; and, now that we've had so many quarrelswith the redskins, I fear that the day is not far-distant when bloodwill flow even in the Mountain Fort. I see no prospect of a betterstate of things, for savage nature cannot be changed. It seems ahopeless case."

  There was a touch of pathos in the tone in which this was said that wasvery different from McLeod's usual bold and reckless manner. It wasevident that his natural disposition was kind, hearty, and peaceable;but that the constant feuds in which he was involved, both in the fortand out of it, had soured his temper and rendered him wellnighdesperate.

  "You are wrong, sir, in saying that their case is hopeless," saidBertram earnestly. "There is a remedy."

  "I wish you could show it me," replied the trader.

  "Here it is," returned the artist, taking his little Testament from theinside pocket of his hunting-shirt. "The gospel
is able to make all menwise unto salvation."

  McLeod shook his head, and said, "It won't do here. To be plain withyou, sir, I don't believe the gospel's of any use in these wild regions,where murder seems to be as natural to man, woman, and child as food."

  "But, sir," rejoined Bertram, "you forget that our Saviour Himself saysthat He came not to call the righteous but _sinners_ to repentance. Inthis volume we are told that the blood of Christ cleanseth us from _all_sin; and, not only have we His assurance that none who come unto Himshall be cast out, but we have examples in all parts of the known worldof men and women who were once steeped to the lips in every species ofgross iniquity having been turned to the service of God through faith inChrist, and that by the power of the Holy Spirit, who, in this Word ofGod, is promised freely to them that simply ask."

  "It may be so," returned McLeod; "I have not studied these things much.I don't profess to be a very religious man, and I cannot pretend to knowmuch of what the gospel has done elsewhere; but I feel quite sure thatit cannot do much _here_!"

  "Then you do not believe the Bible, which says distinctly that this`gospel is the power of God unto salvation to _every one_ thatbelieveth.'"

  "Ay, but these wretched Indians won't believe," objected the trader.

  "True," answered Bertram; "they have not faith by nature, and they_won't_ because they _can't_ believe; but faith is the gift of God, andit is to be had for the asking."

  "To that I answer that they'll never ask."

  "How do you know? Did you ever give them a trial? Did you ever preachthe gospel to them?"

  "No, I never did that."

  "Then you cannot tell how they would treat it. Your remarks are mereassertions of opinion--not arguments. You know the wickedness of theIndians, and can therefore speak authoritatively on that point; but youknow not (according to your own admission) the power of the gospel:therefore you are not in a position to speak on that point."

  McLeod was about to reply when he was interrupted by the approach of MrMacgregor, who had now recovered somewhat from the effects of hisviolent fit of passion. Having observed during the _melee_ thatstrangers had arrived at his fort, he had washed and converted himselfinto a more presentable personage, and now came forward to the group oftrappers, all of whom had assembled at the gate. Addressing them in atone of affable hospitality he said--

  "Good-day, friends; I'm glad to see you at the Mountain Fort. Thatblackguard Larocque somewhat ruffled my temper. He's been the cause ofmuch mischief here, I assure you. Do you intend to trap in theseparts?"

  The latter part of this speech was addressed to Redhand, who replied--

  "We do mean to try our luck in these parts, but we han't yet made up ourminds exactly where to go. Mayhap you'll give us the benefit of youradvice."

  While he was speaking the fur trader glanced with an earnest yet halfstupid stare at the faces of the trappers, as if he wished to impresstheir features on his memory.

  "Advice," he replied; "you're welcome to all the advice I've got to giveye; and it's this--go home; go to where you belong to, sell your trapsand rifles and take to the plough, the hatchet, the forehammer--toanything you like, so long as it keeps you out of this--" Macgregorpaused a moment as if he were about to utter an oath, then dropped hisvoice and said, "This wretched Indian country."

  "I guess, then, that we won't take yer advice, old man," said Big Wallerwith a laugh.

  "`Old man?'" echoed Macgregor with a start.

  "Wall, if ye bean't old, ye ain't exactly a chicken."

  "You're a plain-spoken man," replied the trader, biting his lips.

  "I always wos," retorted Waller.

  Macgregor frowned for a moment, then he broke into a forced laugh, andsaid--

  "Well, friends, you'll please yourselves, of course--most people do; andif you are so determined to stick to the wilderness I would advise someof you to stop here. There's plenty of fun and fighting, if you're fondof that. What say you now, lad," turning to March, "to remain with ushere at the Mountain Fort? I've ta'en a sort of fancy to your face. Wewant young bloods here. I'll give you a good wage and plenty to do."

  "Thanks; you are kind," replied March, smiling, "but I love freedom toowell to part with it yet awhile."

  "Mais, monsieur," cried Gibault, pushing forward, pulling off his cap,and making a low bow; "if you vants yonger blod, an' also ver' gootblod, here am von!"

  The trader laughed, and was about to reply, when a sudden burst oflaughter and the sound of noisy voices in the yard interrupted him.Presently two of the men belonging to the establishment cantered out ofthe square, followed by all the men, women, and children of the place,amounting probably to between twenty and thirty souls. "A race! arace!" shouted the foremost.

  "Hallo! Dupont, what's to do?" inquired McLeod as the two horsemen cameup.

  "Please, monsieur, Lincoln have bet me von gun dat hims horse go morequeek dan mine--so we try."

  "Yes, so we shall, I guess," added the man named Lincoln, whose speechtold that he was a Yankee.

  "Go it, stranger; I calc'late you'll do him slick," cried Wallerpatronisingly, for his heart warmed towards his countryman.

  "Ah! non. Go home; put your horse to bed," cried Gibault, glancing atthe Yankee's steed in contempt. "Dis is de von as vill do it moreslicker by far."

  "Well, well; clear the course; we shall soon see," cried McLeod. "Nowthen--here's the word--one, two--away!"

  At the last word the riders' whips cracked, and the horses sprangforward at a furious gallop. Both of them were good spirited animals,and during the first part of the race it could not be said that eitherhad the advantage. They ran neck and neck together.

  The racecourse at the Mountain Fort was a beautiful stretch of levelturf, which extended a considerable distance in front of the gates. Itcrossed a clear open country towards the forest, where it terminated,and, sweeping round in an abrupt curve, formed, as it were, a loop; sothat competitors, after passing over the course, swept round the loop,and, re-entering the original course again, came back towards the fort,where a long pole formed the winning-post.

  Dupont and Lincoln kept together, as we have said, for some time afterstarting, but before they had cleared the first half of the course theformer was considerably in advance of the latter, much to the delight ofmost of the excited spectators, with whom he was a favourite. Ongaining the loop above referred to, and making the graceful sweep roundit, which brought the foremost rider into full side view, the distancebetween them became more apparent, and a cheer arose from the peoplenear the fort gate.

  At that moment a puff of smoke issued from the bushes. Dupont tossedhis arms in the air, uttered a sharp cry, and fell headlong to theground. At the same instant a band of Indians sprang from the underwoodwith an exulting yell. Lincoln succeeded in checking and turning hishorse before they caught his bridle, but an arrow pierced his shoulderere he had galloped out of reach of his enemies.

  The instant Dupont fell, a savage leaped upon him, and plunged his knifeinto his heart. Then, passing the sharp weapon quickly round his headwith his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leapingup, shook the bloody trophy defiantly at the horrified spectators.

  All this was accomplished so quickly that the horror-stricken people ofthe Mountain Fort had not time to move a finger to save their comrade.But, as the savage raised the scalp of poor Dupont above his head,Redhand's rifle flew to his shoulder, and in another moment the Indianfell to the earth beside his victim. Seeing this, the other Indiansdarted into the forest.

  Then a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Macgregor, as, with aface convulsed with passion, he rushed into the fort, shouting: "Tohorse! to horse, men! and see that your horns and pouches are full ofpowder and ball!"

  The commotion and hubbub that now took place baffle all description.The men shouted and raved as they ran hither and thither, armingthemselves and saddling their horses; while the shrieks of poor Dupont'swidow mingled with those of the othe
r women and the cries of theterrified children.

  "Half a dozen of you must keep the fort," said McLeod, when they wereall assembled; "the others will be sufficient to punish these fiends.You'll help us, I suppose?"

  This latter question was addressed to Redhand, who, with his comrades,stood armed, and ready to mount.

  "Ready, sir," answered the trapper promptly.

  McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart formsof his guests, as they stood each at his horse's head examining thestate of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of hiscostume.

  "Mount! mount!" shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through thegateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.

  "Stay!--my sketch-book!" cried Bertram in an agony, at the same timedropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of thefort.

  "Git on, lads; I'll look arter him," said Bounce with a grin, catchingup the bridle of the artist's horse.

  Without a moment's hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, andgalloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had alreadywellnigh gained the edge of the forest.

  In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with thesketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other.In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked themup, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.

  "Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye'll be fit for nothin',"said Bounce almost sternly.

  Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in hishand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were leftbehind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gateof the Mountain Fort, the two horsemen were flying at full speed overthe plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone beforethem.