The Buffalo Runners | Page 8

What's wrong? Where am I? Have the Redskins got hold o' me
at last?"
"Ay, that they have. At least one Red-skin has got you," said Peter.
"Have a care, man, don't struggle so violently. Okematan won't scalp
you."

The sound of his brother's voice quieted Davidson, and at once restored
his memory.
"Cast me loose, Peter," he said; "you're a good fellow. I see you have
brought me along wi' you, and I feel like a giant refreshed now, tho'
somewhat stiff. Have we come far?"
"I don't know how far we've come, but I know that we've been pegging
along the whole night, and that we must have breakfast before we take
another step. It's all very well for you, Dan, to lie there all night like a
mere bag o' pemmican enjoying yourself, but you must remember that
your brother is mortal, and so are the dogs, to say nothing o' the
Red-skin."
While he was speaking, the youth undid the fastenings, and set his
brother free, but Dan was far too anxious to indulge in pleasantries just
then. After surveying the landscape, and coming to a conclusion as to
where they were, he took a hurried breakfast of dried meat--cold. The
dogs were also treated to a hearty feed, and then, resuming the march,
the rescuers pushed on with renewed vigour--Dan Davidson now
beating the track, and thus rendering it more easy for those who came
behind him.
All that day they pushed on almost without halt, and spent the next
night in a clump of willows; but Dan was too anxious to take much rest.
They rose at the first sign of daybreak, and pushed on at their utmost
speed, until the poor dogs began to show signs of breaking down; but
an extra hour of rest, and a full allowance of food kept them up to the
mark, while calm weather and clear skies served to cheer them on their
way.
CHAPTER FOUR.
TELLS OF LOVE, DUTY, STARVATION, AND MURDER.
Pushing on ahead of them, with that sometimes fatal facility peculiar to
writers and readers, we will now visit the couple whom Dan and his
party were so anxious to rescue.

A single glance at Elspie McKay would have been sufficient to account
to most people for the desperate anxiety of Daniel Davidson to rescue
her from death, for her pretty sparkling face and ever-varying
expression were irresistibly suggestive of a soul full of sympathy and
tender regard for the feelings of others.
Nut-brown hair, dark eyes, brilliant teeth, and many more charms that it
would take too much time and room to record still further accounted for
the desperate determination with which Dan had wooed and won her.
But to see this creature at her best, you had to see her doing the dutiful
to her old father. If ever there was a peevish, cross-grained, crabbed,
unreasonable old sinner in this world, that sinner was Duncan McKay,
senior. He was a widower. Perhaps that accounted to some extent for
his condition. That he should have a younger son--also named
Duncan--a cross ne'er-do-weel like himself--was natural, but how he
came to have such a sweet daughter as Elspie, and such a good elder
son as Fergus, are mysteries which we do not attempt to unravel or
explain. Perhaps these two took after their departed mother. We know
not, for we never met her. Certain it is that they did not in the least
resemble their undeparted father--except in looks, for McKay senior
had been a handsome man, though at the time we introduce him his
good looks, like his temper, had nearly fled, and he was considerably
shrivelled up by age, hard work, and exposure. The poor man was too
old to emigrate to a wilderness home when he had set out for the Red
River Colony, and the unusual sufferings, disappointments, and
hardships to which the first settlers were exposed had told heavily on
even younger men than he.
Elspie's love for her father was intense; her pity for him in his
misfortunes was very tender; and, now that he was brought face to face
with, perhaps, the greatest danger that had ever befallen him, her
anxiety to relieve and comfort him was very touching. She seemed
quite to forget herself, and the fact that she might perish on the bleak
plains along with her father did not seem even to occur to her.
"It wass madness to come here, whatever," said the poor old man, as he
cowered over the small fire, which his son Fergus had kindled before

leaving, and which Elspie had kept up with infinite labour and
difficulty ever since.
The remark was made testily to himself, for Elspie had gone into the
surrounding bush, axe in hand, to find, if possible,