Silver Lake | Page 4

relief
from his sufferings there.
There was no expression of pain on the red man's face--only a look of
profound melancholy.
He laid aside the firebag after a little while, and then quietly drew his
knife, and cut a piece of leather from the skirt of his hunting coat.
The leather had been dried and smoked, and contained no substance
whatever that could sustain life. Wapaw was aware of
this--nevertheless he singed a portion of it until it was reduced almost
to ashes, and mingling a little snow with this, ate it greedily.
Then, raising his eyes to the sky with a long earnest gaze, he sat
immovable, until the sinking fire and the increasing cold recalled his
wandering faculties.
There was a wild, glassy look about the Indian's eyes now, which
probably resulted from exhaustion. He seemed to struggle several times
to rouse himself before he succeeded; shuddering with intense cold, he
crept to the little pile of firewood, and placed several billets on the fire,
which speedily blazed up again, and the dying man cowered over it,
regardless of the smoke which ever and anon wreathed round his
drooping head.

In a few minutes Wapaw started up as if new energy had been infused
into him. He placed his gun, axe, firebag, and powder-horn by
themselves on the ground; then he wrapped himself in his blanket and
lay slowly down beside them with his feet towards the fire. For a few
minutes he lay on his back, gazing earnestly upwards, while his lips
moved slowly, but no sound issued from them. Then he turned wearily
on his side, and, covering his head with the blanket and turning his face
towards the ground, he resigned himself to death.
But God had ordained that, at that time, the red man should not die.
About the time when he lay down, our hunters emerged upon the plain
which had caused the Indian to despair.
"It's of no use goin' farther," observed Robin, as he and his companions
stood at the edge of the forest and looked across the plain; "the wind
blows too hard, and the drift is keen; besides there ain't much to be got
hereaway, even in seasons of plenty."
"Father! is that smoke risin' over the bluff yonder?" asked Roy,
pointing with his finger as he spoke.
"No doubt of it, lad."
"Indians, may be," said Walter.
Robin shook his head. "Don't think so," said he, "for the redskins don't
often come to see me at this time o' the year. But we'll go see; an' look
to your primin', lads--if it's a war-party we'll ha' to fight, mayhap, if we
don't run."
The three hunters crossed the plain in the teeth of the howling drift, and
cautiously approached the bluff referred to by Roy, and from behind
which the smoke ascended.
"It's a camp fire," whispered Robin, as he glanced back at his
companions, "but I see no one there. They must have just left the
place."

There was a shade of anxiety in the hunter's voice as he spoke, for he
thought of Fort Enterprise, its defenceless condition, and the possibility
of the Indians having gone thither.
"They can't have gone to the Fort," said Walter, "else we should have
seen their tracks on the way hither."
"Come," said Robin, stepping forward quickly, "we can see their tracks
now, anyhow, and follow them up, and if they lead to the Fort."
The hunter did not finish his sentence, for at that moment he caught
sight of the recumbent form of Wapaw in the camp.
"Hist! A redskin alone, and asleep! Well, I never did 'xpect to see that."
"Mayhap, he's a decoy-duck," suggested Walter. "Better look sharp
out."
Robin and Roy heeded not the caution. They at once went forward, and
the father lifted the blanket from the Indian's head.
"Dead!" exclaimed Roy, in a solemn tone.
"Not yet, lad! but I do b'lieve the poor critter's a'most gone wi'
starvation. Come, bestir you, boys--rouse up the fire, and boil the
kettle."
Walter and Roy did not require a second bidding. The kettle was ere
long singing on a blazing fire. The Indian's limbs were chafed and
warmed; a can of hot tea was administered, and Wapaw soon revived
sufficiently to look up and thank his deliverers.
"Now, as good luck has it, I chanced to leave my hand-sled at the
Wolf's Glen. Go, fetch it, Roy," said Robin.
The lad set off at once, and, as the glen was not far distant, soon
returned with a flat wooden sledge, six feet long by eighteen inches
broad, on which trappers are wont to pack their game in winter. On this
sledge Wapaw was firmly tied, and dragged by the hunters to Fort

Enterprise.
"Hast got a deer, father?" cried