The Buffalo Runners | Page 5

---. Stay, I will get you lantern--"
He stopped, for Dechamp, observing a large key hanging on the wall,
had seized it and rushed out of the hut without waiting for a lantern.
"Strange, how easy some men get into a fuss!" remarked La Certe to
his surprised, but quiet, spouse as he lighted a large tin lantern, and
went to the door. Looking out with an expression of discomfort, he put
on his cap, and prepared to face the storm in the cause of humanity. He
held the lantern high up first, however, and peered under it as if to
observe the full extent of the discomfort before braving it. Just then a
furious gust blew out the light.
"Ha! I expected that," he said, with a sigh that was strongly suggestive
of relief, as he returned to the fire to relight the lantern.
On going the second time to the door he observed the form of his friend
leading the horse past--both of them looking dim and spectral through
the driving snow.
"Dechamp have good eyes!" he remarked, halting on the threshold.
"There is light enough without the lantern; besides--ha! there, it is out
again! What a trouble it is! Impossible to keep it in--such a night!"
"Hee! hee!" giggled Slowfoot, who was busy refilling her pipe.

La Certe was still standing in a state of hesitancy, troubled by a strong
desire to help his friend, and a stronger desire to spare himself, when he
was thrown somewhat off his wonted balance by the sudden
reappearance of Dechamp, leading, or rather supporting, a man.
Need we say that it was Fergus McKay, almost blind and dumb from
exhaustion, for the parting from Dan Davidson which we have
mentioned had proved to be the last straw which broke them both down,
and it is probable that the frozen corpse of poor Dan would have been
found next day on the snow, had he not been accidentally met by
Dechamp, and taken in charge by the Indian Okematan. Fergus, having
a shorter way to go, and, perhaps, possessing a little more vitality or
endurance, had just managed to stagger to La Certe's hut when he
encountered the same man who, an hour previously, had met and saved
his companion further down the Settlement.
The moment Fergus entered the hut, he looked wildly round, and
opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he suddenly collapsed, and fell
in a heap upon the floor, scattering flakes of snow from his person in
all directions.
La Certe and his wife, though steeped in selfishness, were by no means
insensible to the sufferings of humanity when these were actually made
visible to their naked eyes. Like many--too many--people, they were
incapable of being impressed very deeply through their ears, but could
be keenly touched through the eyes. No sooner did they behold the
condition of Fergus--who was well-known to them--than they dropped
their apathetic characters as though they had been garments.
In her haste Slowfoot let fall her pipe, which broke to atoms on the
floor--but she heeded it not. La Certe capsized his mug of tea--but
regarded it not; and while the former proceeded to remove the shawl
from Fergus's neck and chafe his cold hands, the latter assisted
Dechamp to drag the exhausted man a little nearer to the fire, and
poured a cup of warm tea down his throat.
Their efforts, though perchance not as wisely directed as they might
have been, were so vigorously conducted that success rewarded them.

Fergus soon began to show signs of returning animation. A hunter of
the western wilderness is not easily overcome, neither is he long of
reviving, as a rule, if not killed outright.
They set him up in a sitting posture with his back against a box, and his
feet towards the fire. Heaving a deep sigh, Fergus looked round with a
bewildered, anxious expression. In a moment intelligence returned to
his eyes, and he made a violent attempt to rise, but Dechamp held him
down.
"Let me up!" he gasped, "life and death are in the matter--if it iss not
death already--"
"Be still, Fergus McKay," said Dechamp, with that firmness of manner
and tone which somehow command respect; "I know all about it. Take
one bit of bread, one swig more of tea, and you go with me to Fort
Garry, to tell the Gov'nor what you know. He will send help at once."
Great was the relief of Fergus when he heard this. Submitting to
treatment like an obedient child, he was soon fit to stagger to the sleigh
or cariole, into which he was carefully stuffed and packed like a bale of
goods by La Certe and his wife, who, to their credit be it recorded,
utterly ignored, for