The Red Mans Revenge | Page 7

his sister's ear.
"It's up at the knowl I've peen, Martha, an' I left Samyool Ruvnshaw
there in a fery pad temper--fery pad inteed. He'll come oot of it,
whatever."
"An' he'll not be for sellin' you the knowl?" asked Martha.
"No, he won't," replied Angus.
From this point they went off into a very long-winded discussion of the
pros and cons of the case, which, however, we will spare the reader,
and return to Willow Creek. The bed of the creek, near to the point
where it joined the Red River, was a favourite resort of Master Tony.
Thither he went that same afternoon to play.
Having observed the child's habits, Petawanaquat paddled his canoe to
the same point and hid it and himself among the overhanging bushes of
the creek. In the course of his gambols Tony approached the place. One
stroke of the paddle sent the light birch-bark canoe like an arrow across
the stream. The Indian sprang on shore. Tony gave him one scared look
and was about to utter an appalling yell, when a red hand covered his
mouth and another red hand half throttled him.
Petawanaquat bundled the poor child into the bottom of his canoe,
wrapped a leather coat round his head, spread a buffalo robe over him,
gave him a smart rap on the head to keep him quiet, and paddled easily
out into the stream. Steadily, but not too swiftly, he went down the
river, down the rapids, and past the Indian settlement without attracting
particular notice. Once the buffalo robe moved; the paddle descended
on it with a sounding whack, and it did not move again. Before night

closed, the Indian was paddling over the broad bosom of Lake
Winnipeg.
Of course, Tony was soon missed; his haunts were well known; Miss
Trim traced his footprints to the place where he had been seized, saw
evidences of the struggle, the nature of which she correctly guessed,
and came shrieking back to the house, where she went off into hysterics,
and was unable to tell anything about the matter.
Fortunately, Victor was there; he also traced the footsteps. Instead of
returning home he ran straight to the school-house, which he reached
out of breath.
"Come, Ian, come!" he gasped. "Tony's been carried off--Petawanaquat!
Bring your canoe and gun; all the ammunition you can lay hands on!"
Ian asked for no explanations; he ran into the house, shouldered a small
bag of pemmican, gave his gun and ammunition to Victor, told his
assistant to keep the school going till his return, and ran with his friend
down to the river, where his own birch canoe lay on the bank.
A few minutes sufficed to launch it. Both Ian and Victor were expert
canoe-men. Straining their powers to the utmost, they were soon far
down the Red River, in hot pursuit of the fugitive.
CHAPTER THREE.
THE PURSUIT BEGINS.
There is something delightfully exhilarating in a chase, whether it be
after man or beast. How the blood careers! How the nerves tingle! But
you know all about it, reader. We have said sufficient.
There was enough of righteous indignation in Victor's bosom to have
consumed Petawanaquat, and ground enough to justify the fiercest
resolves. Was not the kidnapper a redskin--a low, mean, contemptible
savage? Was not the kidnapped one his brother--his "own" brother?
And such a brother! One of a thousand, with mischief enough in him, if

rightly directed, to make half a dozen ordinary men! The nature of the
spirit which animated Victor was obvious on his compressed lips, his
frowning brows, his gleaming eyes. The strength of his muscles was
indicated by the foam that fled from his paddle.
Ian Macdonald was not less excited, but more under self-control than
his friend. There was a fixed look in his plain but pleasant face, and a
tremendous sweep in his long arms as he plied the paddle, that told of
unfathomed energy. The canoe being a mere egg-shell, leaped forward
at each quick stroke "like a thing of life."
There was no time to lose. They knew that, for the Indian had probably
got a good start of them, and, being a powerful man, animated by the
certainty of pursuit sooner or later, would not only put his strength but
his endurance to the test. If they were to overtake him it must be by
superhuman exertion. Lake Winnipeg was twenty miles off. They must
catch up the Indian before he reached it, as otherwise it would be
impossible to tell in which direction he had gone.
They did not pause to make inquiries of the settlers on the banks by the
way, but they hailed several canoes, whose occupants said they had
seen the Indian going quietly down stream some hours before--alone in