The Red Mans Revenge | Page 9

undertone.
Victor growled, turned on his other side with a deep sigh, wanted to be let alone, became suddenly conscious, and sprang up in alarm.
"We're too late!"
"No, we're not, Vic. The moon is just rising, but we must be stirring. Time's precious."
Victor required no urging. He was fully alive to the situation. A few minutes sufficed to get the canoe ready and roll up their blankets, during the performance of which operations they each ate several substantial mouthfuls of pemmican.
Looking carefully round before pushing off the canoe to see that nothing was forgotten, Ian observed some chips of wood on the beach close at hand.
"See, Vic!" he said eagerly; "some one has been here--perhaps the Indian."
They examined the chips, which had been recently cut. "It's not easy to make out footprints here," said Ian, going down on his knees the better to observe the ground; "and so many settlers and Indians pass from time to time, having little boys with them too, that--. I say, look here, Vic, this little footmark might or might not be Tony's, but moccasins are so much alike that--"
"Out o' the light, man; if you were made o' glass the moon might get through you. Why, yes, it is Tony's moccasin!" cried Victor, in eager excitement. "I know it by the patch, for I saw Elsie putting it on this very morning. Look, speak, man! don't you see it? A square patch on the ball of the right foot!"
"Yes, yes; I see it," said Ian, going down on his knees in a spirit of semi-worship, and putting his nose close to the ground.
He would fain have kissed the spot that had been pressed by a patch put on by Elsie, but he was "unromantic," and refrained.
"Now," he said, springing up with alacrity, "that settles the question. At least it shows that there is strong probability of their having taken the left shore of the lake."
"Come along, then, let's after them," cried Victor impatiently, pushing off the canoe.
The moment she floated--which she did in about four inches of water-- they stepped swiftly yet gently into her; for bark canoes require tender treatment at all times, even when urgent speed is needful. Gliding into deep water, they once more dipped their paddles, deep and fast, and danced merrily over the moonlit sea--for a sea Lake Winnipeg certainly is, being upwards of three hundred miles long, and a gathering together of many waters from all parts of the vast wilderness of Rupert's Land.
After two hours of steady work they paused to rest.
"Now, Ian," said Victor, leaning against the wooden bar at his back, and resting his paddle across the canoe, "Venus tells me that the sun is about to bestir himself, and something within me tells me that empty space is a bad stomachic; so, out with the pemmican bag, and hand over a junk."
Ian drew his hunting-knife, struck it into the mass of meat, and chipped off a piece the size of his fist, which he handed to his comrade.
Probably our readers are aware that pemmican is made of dried buffalo meat pounded to shreds and mixed with melted fat. Being thus half-cooked in the making, it can be used with or without further cookery. Sewed up in its bag, it will keep good for months, or even years, and is magnificent eating, but requires a strong digestion. Ian and Victor were gifted with that requisite. They fed luxuriously. A draught from the crystal lake went down their unsophisticated throats like nectar, and they resumed their paddles like giants refreshed.
Venus mounted like a miniature moon into the glorious blue. Her perfect image went off in the opposite direction, for there was not the ghost of a zephyr to ruffle the deep. Presently the sun followed in her wake, and scattered the battalions of cloudland with artillery of molten gold. Little white gulls, with red legs and beaks, came dipping over the water, solemnly wondering at the intruders. The morning mists rolling along before the resistless monarch of day confused the visible world for a time, so that between refraction and reflection and buoyant spirits Victor Ravenshaw felt that at last he had found the realms of fairyland, and a feeling of certainty that he should soon rescue his brother filled him with exultation.
But the exultation was premature. Noon found them toiling on, and still no trace of the fugitives was to be seen.
"What if we have overshot them?" said Victor.
"Impossible," answered Ian, "the shore is too open for that, and I have been keeping a sharp look-out at every bend and bay."
"That may be true, yet Petawanaquat may have kept a sharper look-out, and concealed himself when he saw us coming. See, here is a creek. He may have gone up that. Let us try. Why! there is