CHAPTER FOUR.
A WOLF-HUNT IN THE PRAIRIES--CHARLEY ASTONISHES HIS FATHER, AND BREAKSIN THE "NOO 'OSS" EFFECTUALLY.
During the long winter that reigns in the northern regions of America,the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20,30, and 40 degrees _below_ it. In different parts of the country theintensity of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently to make anyappreciable change in one's sensation of cold. At York Fort, on theshores of Hudson's Bay, where the winter is eight months long, thespirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimesfalls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of GreatBear Lake it has been known to fall considerably lower than 60 degreesbelow zero of Fahrenheit. Cold of such intensity, of course, producesmany curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticedby the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those whovisit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on oneof the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his faceruddy. In half an hour he returns with his face blue, his nosefrost-bitten, and his locks _white_--the latter effect being produced byhis breath congealing on his hair and breast, until both are coveredwith hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced, itmay be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told bythose who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wearmoccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has beenaccustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly. In a fewminutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far asfeeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels theextraordinary and peculiar and altogether disagreeable sensation of onewho has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on hisinsteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youthrushes frantically home on the stumps of his anklebones--at least so itappears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did notspeedily rub the benumbed appendages into vitality again.
The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairiesof Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white forfive or six months of the year. Impelled by hunger, troops of prairiewolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man inconsequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper away on thesurface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight,would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious oraltogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws beginto take place, and commence that delightful process of disruption whichintroduces this charming season of the year, the relative position ofwolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that theshort legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solidground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the longlegs of the horse enable him to plunge through and dash aside the snowat a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient, nevertheless,to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. Theinhabitants of Red River are not much addicted to this sport, but thegentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it wasto a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy wasnow so anxious to go.
The morning was propitious. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in asky of deep, unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if itwere a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the wallsof the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced allthe pleasurable feelings of being out on a calm day on the wide, widesea, without the disagreeable consequence of being very, very sick.
The thermometer stood at 39 in the shade, and "everythink," as Tom Whiteemphatically expressed it, "looked like a runnin' of right away intoslush." That unusual sound, the trickling of water, so inexpressiblygrateful to the ears of those who dwell in frosty climes, was heard allaround, as the heavy masses of snow on the housetops sent a fewadventurous drops gliding down the icicles which depended from the ewesand gables; and there was a balmy softness in the air that told ofcoming spring. Nature, in fact, seemed to have wakened from her longnap, and was beginning to think of getting up. Like people, however,who venture to delay so long as to _think_ about it, Nature frequentlyturns round and goes to sleep again in her icy cradle for a few weeksafter the first awakening.
The scene in the courtyard of Fort Garry harmonised with the cheerfulspirit of the morning. Tom Whyte, with that upright solemnity whichconstituted one of his characteristic features, was standing in thecentre of a group of horses, whose energy he endeavoured to restrainwith the help of a small Indian boy, to whom meanwhile he imparted avariety of useful and otherwise unattainable information.
"You see, Joseph," said he to the urchin, who gazed gravely in his facewith a pair of very large and dark eyes, "ponies is often skittish.Reason why one should be, an' another not, I can't comprehend. P'r'apsit's nat'ral, p'r'aps not, but howsomediver so 'tis; an' if it's morenor above the likes o' _me_, Joseph, you needn't be surprised that it'ssomethink haltogether beyond you."
It will not surprise the reader to be told that Joseph made no reply tothis speech, having a very imperfect acquaintance with the Englishlanguage, especially the peculiar dialect of that tongue in which TomWhyte was wont to express his ideas, when he had any.
He merely gave a grunt, and continued to gaze at Tom's fishy eyes, whichwere about as interesting as the face to which they belonged, and _that_might have been mistaken for almost anything.
"Yes, Joseph," he continued, "that's a fact. There's the noo brown 'ossnow, _it's_ a skittish 'un. And there's Mr Kennedy's gray mare, wot'sa standin' of beside me, she ain't skittish a bit, though she's plentyof spirit, and wouldn't care hanythink for a five-barred gate. Now, wotI want to know is, wot's the reason why?"
We fear that the reason why, however interesting it might prove tonaturalists, must remain a profound secret for ever; for just as thegroom was about to entertain Joseph with one of his theories on thepoint, Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville hastily approached.
"Ho, Tom!" exclaimed the former, "have you got the miller's pony forme?"
"_Why_, no, sir; 'e 'adn't got his shoes on, sir, last night--"
"Oh, bother his shoes!" said Charley, in a voice of greatdisappointment. "Why didn't you bring him up without shoes, man, eh?"
"Well, sir, the miller said 'e'd get 'em put on early this mornin', an'I 'xpect 'e'll be 'ere in 'alf a hour at farthest, sir."
"Oh, very well," replied Charley, much relieved, but still a littlenettled at the bare possibility of being late.--"Come along, Harry;let's go and meet him. He'll be long enough of coming if we don't go topoke him up a bit."
"You'd better wait," called out the groom, as the boys hastened away."If you go by the river, he'll p'r'aps come by the plains; and if you goby the plains, he'll p'r'aps come by the river."
Charley and Harry stopped and looked at each other. Then they looked atthe groom, and as their eyes surveyed his solemn, cadaverouscountenance, which seemed a sort of bad caricature of the long visagesof the horses that stood around him, they burst into a simultaneous andprolonged laugh. "He's a clever old lamp-post," said Harry at last: "wehad better remain, Charley."
"You see," continued Tom Whyte, "the pony's 'oofs is in an 'orriblestate. Last night w'en I seed 'im I said to the miller, says I, `John,I'll take 'im down to the smith d'rectly.' `Very good,' said John. SoI 'ad 'im down to the smith--"
The remainder of Tom's speech was cut short by one of those unforeseenoperations of the laws of nature which are peculiar to arctic climates.During the long winter repeated falls of snow cover the housetops withwhite mantles upwards of a foot thick, which become gradually thickerand more consolidated as winter advances. In spring the suddenness ofthe thaw loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates them inmasses to the ground. These miniature avalanches are dangerous, peoplehaving been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now ithappened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partlydepended fro
m the roof of the house near to which the horses werestanding, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whyte'sspeech when he "'ad 'im down to the smith," fell with a stunning crashon the back of Mr Kennedy's gray mare. The mare was not "skittish"--byno means--according to Tom's idea, but it would have been more than anordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half a ton of snowwithout _some_ symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel theblow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, byway of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, itsprang over Tom Whyte's head, jerked the reins from his hand, and upsethim in the snow. Poor Tom never _bent_ to anything. The militarydespotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch ofthe cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill,laziness, and rheumatism made it at last impossible. When he stood up,he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he brokeacross at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would havedone had _it_ felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came downlike an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom becamehorizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity to fallstraight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected,came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flatlikewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no soonerfelt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round thecourt, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion.
The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates ofthe fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time theywere again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit.
A few minutes after this Mr Grant issued from the principal house,leaning on Mr Kennedy's arm, and followed by the senior clerk, PeterMactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in thewolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns orpistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemenalone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than theirheavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been stronglyadvised not to take a gun, lest he should shoot himself or his horse orhis companions, was content to take the field with a smallpocket-pistol, which he crammed to the muzzle with a compound of balland swan-shot.
"It won't do," said Mr Grant, in an earnest voice, to his friend, asthey walked towards the horses--"it won't do to check him too abruptly,my dear sir."
It was evident that they were recurring to the subject of conversationof the previous day, and it was also evident that the father's wrath wasin that very uncertain state when a word or a look can throw it intoviolent agitation.
"Just permit me," continued Mr Grant, "to get him sent to theSaskatchewan or Athabasca for a couple of years. By that time he'llhave had enough of a rough life, and be only too glad to get a berth atheadquarters. If you thwart him now, I feel convinced that he'll breakthrough all restraint."
"Humph!" ejaculated Mr Kennedy, with a frown.--"Come here, Charley," hesaid, as the boy approached with a disappointed look to tell of hisfailure in getting a horse; "I've been talking with Mr Grant againabout this business, and he says he can easily get you into thecounting-room here for a year, so you'll make arrangements--"
The old gentleman paused. He was going to have followed his wontedcourse by _commanding_ instantaneous obedience; but as his eye fell uponthe honest, open, though disappointed face of his son, a gush oftenderness filled his heart. Laying his hand upon Charley's head, hesaid, in a kind but abrupt tone, "There now, Charley, my boy, make upyour mind to give in with a good grace. It'll only be hard work for ayear or two, and then plain sailing after that, Charley!"
Charley's clear blue eyes filled with tears as the accents of kindnessfell upon his ear.
It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potentinfluence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, whichassures us that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," and that "_love_ isthe fulfilling of the law," who has not, in the course of hisexperience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word;not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but aword spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, andbeams in the eye, and revels in every wrinkle of the face? And how muchmore powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to theheart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to theformation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr Kennedy, senior,known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, weventure to affirm that Mr Kennedy, junior, would have _allowed_ his"_flint to be fixed_" (as his father pithily expressed it) long ago.
Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr Grant's voice, pitched inan elevated key, interrupted them.
"Eh! what?" said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. "No horse for Charley!How's that?"
"No, sir," said Tom.
"Where's the brown pony?" said Mr Grant, abruptly.
"Cut 'is fetlock, sir," said Tom slowly.
"And the new horse?"
"'Tain't 'alf broke yet, sir."
"Ah! that's bad.--It wouldn't do to take an unbroken charger, Charley;for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn't manage him, Ifear. Let me see."
"Please, sir," said the groom, touching his hat, "I've borrowed themiller's pony for 'im, and 'e's sure to be 'ere in 'alf a hour atfarthest."
"Oh, that'll do," said Mr Grant; "you can soon overtake us. We shallride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behindto keep you company."
So saying, Mr Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate,followed by the whole cavalcade.
"Now this is too bad!" said Charley, looking with a very perplexed airat his companion. "What's to be done?"
Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficultyof saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charleyvery earnestly to take _his_ pony, but this the other would not hear of;so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to waitas patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In themeantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort.Charley assented, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray ponyalong with them.
To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end ofwhich commences a growth of willows and underwood, which graduallyincreases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland,skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belongingto the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenlyconceived a strong desire to see the renowned "noo 'oss," which Tom hadsaid was only "'alf broke;" so he turned the key, opened the door, andwent in.
There was nothing _very_ peculiar about this horse, excepting that hislegs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination,there was a noticeable breadth of nostril and a latent fire in his eye,indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley's own, requiredtaming.
"Oh," said Charley, "what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I'll go outwith _him_."
"You'd better not."
"Why not?"
"Why? just because if you do Mr Grant will be down upon you, and yourfather won't be very well pleased."
"Nonsense," cried Charley. "Father didn't say I wasn't to take him. Idon't think he'd care much. He's not afraid of my breaking my neck.And then, Mr Grant seemed to be only afraid of my being run off with--not of his horse being hurt. Here goes for it!" In another momentCharley had him saddled and bridled, and led him out into the yard.
"Why, I declare he's quite quiet; just like a lamb," said Harry, insurprise.
"So he is," replied Charley. "He's a capital charger; and even if hedoes bolt, he can't run five hundred miles at a stretch. If I turn hishead to the prairies, the Rocky Mountains are the first things that willbring him up. So let him run if he likes, I don't care a fig." Andspringing lightly into the saddle, he cantered out of the yard, followedby his friend.
The young horse was a well-formed, sh
owy animal, with a good deal ofbone--perhaps too much for elegance. He was of a beautiful dark brown,and carried a high head and tail, with a high-stepping gait, that gavehim a noble appearance. As Charley cantered along at a steady pace, hecould discover no symptoms of the refractory spirit which had beenascribed to him.
"Let us strike out straight for the horizon now," said Harry, after theyhad galloped half a mile or so along the beaten track. "See, here arethe tracks of our friends." Turning sharp round as he spoke, he leapedhis pony over the heap that lined the road, and galloped away throughthe soft snow.
At this point the young horse began to show his evil spirit. Instead offollowing the other, he suddenly halted and began to back.
"Hollo, Harry!" exclaimed Charley; "hold on a bit. Here's this monsterbegun his tricks."
"Hit him a crack with the whip," shouted Harry.
Charley acted upon the advice, which had the effect of making the horseshake his head with a sharp snort, and back more vigorously than ever.
"There, my fine fellow, quiet now," said Charley in a soothing tone,patting the horse's neck. "It's a comfort to know you can't go far inthat direction, anyhow!" he added, as he glanced over his shoulder, andsaw an immense drift behind.
He was right. In a few minutes the horse backed into the snow-drift.Finding his hind-quarters imprisoned by a power that was too much evenfor _his_ obstinacy to overcome, he gave another snort and a heavyplunge, which almost unseated his young rider.
"Hold on fast," cried Harry, who had now come up.
"No fear," cried Charley, as he clinched his teeth and gathered thereins more firmly.--"Now for it, you young villain!" and raising hiswhip, he brought it down with a heavy slash on the horse's flank.
Had the snow-drift been a cannon, and the horse a bombshell, he couldscarcely have sprung from it with greater velocity. One bound landedhim on the road; another cleared it; and in a second more he stretchedout at full speed--his ears flat on his neck, mane and tail flying inthe wind, and the bit tight between his teeth.
"Well done," cried Harry, as he passed. "You're off now, old fellow;good-bye."
"Hurrah!" shouted Charley, in reply, leaving his cap in the snow as aparting souvenir; while, seeing that it was useless to endeavour tocheck his steed, he became quite wild with excitement; gave him therein; flourished his whip; and flew over the white plains, casting upthe snow in clouds behind him like a hurricane.
While this little escapade was being enacted by the boys, the hunterswere riding leisurely out upon the snowy sea in search of a wolf.
Words cannot convey to you, dear reader, an adequate conception of thepeculiar fascination, the exhilarating splendour of the scene by whichour hunters were surrounded. Its beauty lay not in variety of featurein the landscape, for there was none. One vast sheet of white alone metthe view, bounded all round by the blue circle of the sky, and broken inone or two places by a patch or two of willows, which, rising on theplain, appeared like little islands in a frozen sea. It was theglittering sparkle of the snow in the bright sunshine; the dreamyhaziness of the atmosphere, mingling earth and sky as in a halo of gold;the first taste, the first _smell_ of spring after a long winter,bursting suddenly upon the senses, like the unexpected visit of along-absent, much-loved, and almost forgotten friend; the soft, warmfeeling of the south wind, bearing on its wings the balmy influences ofsunny climes, and recalling vividly the scenes, the pleasures, thebustling occupations of summer. It was this that caused the hunters'hearts to leap within them as they rode along--that induced old MrKennedy to forget his years, and shout as he had been wont to do in daysgone by, when he used to follow the track of the elk or hunt the wildbuffalo; and it was this that made the otherwise monotonous prairies onthis particular day so charming.
The party had wandered about, without discovering anything that bore thesmallest resemblance to a wolf, for upwards of an hour; Fort Garry hadfallen astern (to use a nautical phrase) until it had become a merespeck on the horizon, and vanished altogether; Peter Mactavish had twicegiven a false alarm in the eagerness of his spirit, and had three timesplunged his horse up to the girths in a snow-drift; the senior clerk waswaxing impatient, and the horses restive, when a sudden "Hollo!" fromMr Grant brought the whole cavalcade to a stand.
The object which drew his attention, and to which he directed theanxious eyes of his friends, was a small speck, rather triangular inform, which overtopped a little willow bush not more than five or sixhundred yards distant.
"There he is!" exclaimed Mr Grant. "That's a fact," cried Mr Kennedy;and both gentlemen, instantaneously giving a shout, bounded towards theobject; not, however, before the senior clerk, who was mounted on afleet and strong horse, had taken the lead by six yards. A momentafterwards the speck rose up and discovered itself to be a veritablewolf. Moreover, he condescended to show his teeth, and then, conceivingit probable that his enemies were too numerous for him, he suddenlyturned round and fled away. For ten minutes or so the chase was kept upat full speed, and as the snow happened to be shallow at thestarting-point, the wolf kept well ahead of its pursuers--indeed,distanced them a little. But soon the snow became deeper, and the wolfplunged heavily, and the horses gained considerably. Although to theeye the prairie seemed to be a uniform level, there were numerous slightundulations, in which drifts of some depth had collected. Into one ofthese the wolf now plunged and laboured slowly through it. But so deepwas the snow that the horses almost stuck fast. A few minutes, however,brought them out, and Mr Grant and Mr Kennedy, who had kept close toeach other during the run, pulled up for a moment on the summit of aridge to breathe their panting steeds.
"What can that be?" exclaimed the former, pointing with his whip to adistant object which was moving rapidly over the plain.
"Eh! what--where?" said Mr Kennedy, shading his eyes with his hand, andpeering in the direction indicated. "Why, that's another wolf, isn'tit? No; it runs too fast for that."
"Strange," said his friend; "what _can_ it be?"
"If I hadn't seen every beast in the country," remarked Mr Kennedy,"and didn't know that there are no such animals north of the equator, Ishould say it was a mad dromedary mounted by a ring-tailed roarer."
"It can't be, surely--not possible!" exclaimed Mr Grant. "It's notCharley on the new horse!"
Mr Grant said this with an air of vexation, that annoyed his friend alittle. He would not have much minded Charley's taking a horse withoutleave, no matter how wild it might be; but he did not at all relish theidea of making an apology for his son's misconduct, and for the momentdid not exactly know what to say. As usual in such a dilemma, the oldman took refuge in a towering passion, gave his steed a sharp cut withthe whip, and galloped forward to meet the delinquent.
We are not acquainted with the general appearance of a "ring-tailedroarer;" in fact, we have grave doubts as to whether such an animalexists at all; but if it does, and is particularly wild, dishevelled,and fierce in deportment, there is no doubt whatever that when MrKennedy applied the name to his hopeful son, the application wassingularly powerful and appropriate.
Charley had had a long run since we last saw him. After describing awide curve, in which his charger displayed a surprising aptitude forpicking out the ground that was least covered with snow, he headedstraight for the fort again at the same pace at which he had started.At first Charley tried every possible method to check him, but in vain;so he gave it up, resolving to enjoy the race, since he could notprevent it. The young horse seemed to be made of lightning, with bonesand muscles of brass, for he bounded untiringly forward for miles,tossing his head and snorting in his wild career. But Charley was agood horseman, and did not mind _that_ much, being quite satisfied thatthe horse _was_ a horse, and not a spirit, and that therefore he couldnot run for ever. At last he approached the party, in search of whichhe had originally set out. His eyes dilated and his colour heightenedas he beheld the wolf running directly towards him. Fumbling hastilyfor the pistol which he had borrowed from his frie
nd Harry, he drew itfrom his pocket, and prepared to give the animal a shot in passing.Just at that moment the wolf caught sight of this new enemy in advance,and diverged suddenly to the left, plunging into a drift in hisconfusion, and so enabling the senior clerk to overtake him, and send anounce of heavy shot into his side, which turned him over quite dead.The shot, however, had a double effect. At that instant Charley sweptpast; and his mettlesome steed swerved as it heard the loud report ofthe gun, thereby almost unhorsing his rider, and causing himunintentionally to discharge the conglomerate of bullets and swan-shotinto the flank of Peter Mactavish's horse--fortunately at a distancewhich rendered the shot equivalent to a dozen very sharp andparticularly stinging blows. On receiving this unexpected salute, theastonished charger reared convulsively, and fell back upon his rider,who was thereby buried deep in the snow, not a vestige of him beingleft, no more than if he had never existed at all. Indeed, for a momentit seemed to be doubtful whether poor Peter _did_ exist or not, until asudden upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled headappeared, with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them anexpression of mingled horror and amazement. Meanwhile the second shotacted like a spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr Kennedy like awhirlwind.
"Stop, you young scoundrel!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley ashe passed.
Charley was past stopping, either by inclination or ability. Thissudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him.As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight outbehind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched, andhis horse tearing along more like an incarnate fiend than an animal, aspirit of combined recklessness, consternation, indignation, and gleetook possession of him. He waved his whip wildly over his head, broughtit down with a stinging cut on the horse's neck, and uttered a shout ofdefiance that threw completely into the shade the loudest war-whoop thatwas ever uttered by the brazen lungs of the wildest savage betweenHudson's Bay and Oregon. Seeing and hearing this, old Mr Kennedywheeled about and dashed off in pursuit with much greater energy than hehad displayed in chase of the wolf.
The race bade fair to be a long one, for the young horse was strong inwind and limb; and the gray mare, though decidedly not the "betterhorse," was much fresher than the other.
The hunters, who were now joined by Harry Somerville, did not feel itincumbent on them to follow this new chase; so they contented themselveswith watching their flight towards the fort, while they followed at amore leisurely pace.
Meanwhile Charley rapidly neared Fort Garry, and now began to wonderwhether the stable door was open, and if so, whether it were better forhim to take his chance of getting his neck broken, or to throw himselfinto the next snow-drift that presented itself.
He had not to remain long in suspense. The wooden fence that enclosedthe stable-yard lay before him. It was between four and five feet high,with a beaten track running along the outside, and a deep snow-drift onthe other. Charley felt that the young horse had made up his mind toleap this. As he did not at the moment see that there was anythingbetter to be done, he prepared for it. As the horse bent on hishaunches to spring, he gave him a smart cut with the whip, went overlike a rocket, and plunged up to the neck in the snow-drift, whichbrought his career to an abrupt conclusion. The sudden stoppage of thehorse was one thing, but the arresting of Master Charley was _another_and quite a different thing. The instant his charger landed, he leftthe saddle like a harlequin, described an extensive curve in the air,and fell head foremost into the drift, above which his boots and threeinches of his legs alone remained to tell the tale.
On witnessing this climax, Mr Kennedy, senior, pulled up, dismounted,and ran--with an expression of some anxiety on his countenance--to thehelp of his son; while Tom Whyte came out of the stable just in time toreceive the "noo 'oss" as he floundered out of the snow.
"I believe," said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger, "thatyour son has broke the noo 'oss, sir, better nor I could 'ave donemyself."
"I believe that my son has broken his neck," said Mr Kennedywrathfully. "Come here and help me to dig him out."
In a few minutes Charley was dug out, in a state of insensibility, andcarried up to the fort, where he was laid on a bed, and restorativesactively applied for his recovery.
The Young Fur Traders Page 4
